Kim Possible: Underworld
by DuffKilliganFan
Summary: Kim and Ron had their lives on track. Had. Now, they are about to be thrown into a world they could not possibly have imagined...
1. New forms of pain

I was originally planning on waiting for my Christmas break before I would begin writing this story. However, several new stories have come out recently that I had been thinking of as well, and I'm afraid that if I wait too long to get this story out there that someone else will beat me to it.

I do want to point a few things out before I begin. First off, for those who don't know, "Underworld" and "Underworld: Evolution" are two recent movies, documenting a war between Vampires and Werewolves, though they are called Lycans in the film. I won't go into anymore detail; suffice to say that they are fantastic films (for those who like these kinds of movies), and I would highly recommend seeing them both.

Another thing I'd like to point out is that from the second movie, we learn that this is taking place somewhere in Eastern Europe.

Add to that a fact from the first movie, when the entourage of Amelia arrived before she did, one of her members offered a toast, saying that although their houses were separated by a great ocean, they were still united. This tells us that not only are there at least two Vampire Houses in the world, but one lies across the Atlantic.

I am using these two facts in tandem to base my story in New York City. I chose to do this for three simple reasons. The first is that it is more plausible for Kim and Ron to attend college/culinary institute in the States than in Europe. The second is that this offers me more leeway; what I mean is that I am less likely to step on anyone's toes if they happen to be die-hard fans of the films. The third reason is because my knowledge of American schools is not great, but I do know that New York has both a culinary institute and a good college (if not several).

Also, I would like to point out that Viktor's propaganda has remained intact on this side. As such, I will continue to utilize it as if it were truth.

This story is Post-StD. Kim and Ron are together in this story; their senior year done, they are now heading to school in (obviously) New York.

Sorry, I spent so much time opening this story up, but I decided to get these areas covered before I had too many complaints about what I was doing.

If you saw it on Kim Possible, it is owned by Disney. If you saw it on either of the Underworld movies, it is owned by whoever made the movies.

Well, enough of this dribble, on to the main event…

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"This is so totally beyond badical, KP," Ron said as they entered their new, penthouse apartment. Kim smiled at her boyfriend's enthusiasm. _The advantages to being the daughter of a rocket scientist and a brain surgeon,_ she thought as she entered the almost palace-like expanse within. Both her parents were highly paid for their respective jobs, and they decided if Kim was going to pay for her own schooling (they tried to convince her otherwise, but Kim had flat-out refused), they could at least make sure she was staying in a nice place. 'Nice' barely began to describe this apartment. The long staircase in front of them stretched to the floor below. Each step was clearly made of marble, as was the floor below it. Windows opened up on each and every wall, giving a clear view of the vast city from thirty-eight floors up. The adjacent rooms currently had their doors open, and each was immense.

"Does this one apartment encompass the entire floor?" Ron asked, still slack-jawed from the sheer size and grandeur of the penthouse.

"Oh, yeah," Kim said as she laid her luggage on the ground. "This place is spankin'!" she added as she walked towards Ron, looping her arms around his waist. A big, goofy grin on his face, Ron turned his head towards Kim, and the two locked into a passionate kiss in their new palace.

Breaking their kiss, Kim opened her eyes and looked into Ron's chocolate brown ones. "You remember what we talked about, right?" she questioned him.

"If your Dad calls, don't answer it," Ron answered, rolling his eyes.

"And…"

"And if I do, say you're just at the door, talking to the manager, and I'm just waiting in the kitchen."

"Good boy," Kim said with a little smirk on her face.

"Are you calling me a dog, KP?" Ron asked his girlfriend.

"It's not my fault that I know how to make you beg." His smile a little wider, Ron and Kim locked lips again.

James Possible, although aware of the fact that his daughter and his daughter's life-long best friend were dating, did not know they were sharing an apartment. Kim had told her mother about her and Ron's "extracurricular activities" (actually, she walked in on them while they were using the living room couch), and being relatively understanding, or at least more so than her husband when it came to this topic of conversation, Anne Possible knew the two were responsible enough to have a place together.

Breaking apart once again, Kim took Ron's hand. "Come on, I got to show you something."

Leading him to one of the adjacent rooms, she turned on the light, eliciting a gasp from Ron. Inside was a Naked Mole Rat's paradise. Plastic tubing connected across the entire room. A cheese dispenser stood against the wall, and the large bed in the middle was shaped like the original Buenos Nacho.

Kim didn't think it was possible for his smile to grow any wider, but Ron's face lit up when he saw the room. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out Rufus. "Rufus, buddy, wait 'til you see the room Kimila decked out for ya!"

Rufus, still shaking off what he felt was a far too short nap, looked around. Although getting on in years by rodent standards, he grew insanely excited, jumped off Ron's hands and dashed for the cheese machine.

"Do you think he approves?" Kim asked, cocking an eyebrow. His belly full of cheese, Rufus made a mad sprint through his plastic tubes, jumping into his bed. Kim didn't think he hit the bed before he fell asleep.

It was now that Kim grew intently aware that Ron was looking at her. She turned and looked at him for a few moments. "What?" She finally asked.

His usual, dopey grin replaced by something almost playfully wicked. "You look so much like Shego when you say something like that."

Too caught off guard to pay close attention to Ron's bizarre sentence structure, she squinted at him. "Do you want to take that back?"

"Uh… no." With that, Ron ran off like a shot. Kim, grabbing a pillow off the floor, ran after him. She caught up with him in the living room and, knocking him to the floor, sat on him, pinning his hands above his head.

"So, are you going to take it back?"

"Never," Ron said with a grin still on his face.

Kim leaned down on top of her boyfriend and whispered in his ear. At first, he wasn't paying too much attention, distracted by the way her breasts were pressed against his chest, but once he caught the part about what privileges he was going to have to live without if he didn't take it back, his face fell.

"Okay, I take it back tenfold. A hundredfold. No, wait, a thousand fold. Scratch that, infinity fold!"

Kim laughed at him. _He can be so strange sometimes,_ she thought, _but I wouldn't dream of changing him for the world._

"You know, Ron, that remark really hurt me. You're going to have to make it up to me." Kim said, feigning emotional injury.

"How am I going to do that?" Ron asked, confusion evident in his face.

"Oh," Kim said, letting a few strands of her hair fall on Ron's face, "I'll think of something." A wicked little smile crossed her face.

Ron, although not the swiftest horse in the race, eventually caught on and was disappointed when Kim climbed off him. "Come on, Romeo, I still have one more room I'd like to show you."

Reluctantly getting up off the floor, Ron walked after Kim. She stepped into the room at the end of the hall. When Ron walked in, his expression was reminiscent of when he had first seen that little black dress he loved to see her in. It was the master bedroom. The great bed in the middle of the room was immense, its red silk sheets accenting the royal purple of the curtains perfectly.

"What do you think?" Kim asked, turning to her boyfriend/lover

Taking her face into his hands, Ron planted a deep kiss on her lips. "I think you're perfect."

"I meant the room, Ron."

"As long as you're in it…" He said, taking a quick glance around. He didn't finish that sentence, just planted another kiss on Kim, though now, he was starting to trail down her neck.

"You know, Ron, I made sure the bed was built very sturdy, and the walls properly soundproofed." Kim said, trying not to start moaning, but it was _very_ _hard_.

"And just why are you telling me that?"

"Why, I want you to help me test them, of course…"

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Several hours later, dressed in nothing more than one of Ron's old hockey jerseys, Kim slowly ate through a small bowl of Fudge Ripple as she took a seat on the couch and started flipping through channels.

_Nothing, nope, nada, zip, seen it, seen it, never want to see again, what the hell is that guy doing to that women's… eewwww! _Kim hadn't been that grossed out since her mother warned her that she had inherited her lung power. That was way TMI. _Okay, never watching that channel again, no, no, no, no… 500 channels, and I can't find a thing…Oh, wait a minute. Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner._

Kim smiled as the theme music began. She loved this show and really didn't care what anyone else said. Of course, she'd never admit to actually liking it.

_It's not my fault I grew to like it. I mean, between the tweebs, Monique, and Ron, it's on almost constantly._

Kim had never dreamed she would one day become a fan of the GWA, but it had finally happened. She didn't care for the title fights involving Pain King and Steel Toe like her BFBF, her BGF, or the tweebs. No, she absolutely loved the $1,000 opening fight. All the matches had these bouts to warm the crowd up for the main event. The way it worked was simple: local amateurs would be called out one by one; the point was to throw your opponent out of the ring, and then, they'd call out the next guy. The last guy in the ring won $1,000. Okay, maybe it wasn't fair, as the first guy would have to fight them all, while the last guy would only have to fight one person, but that was half the fun.

_Didn't Ron say some minor league copied that? What did he call it? Royal… something or other; on the WW… whatever._

Kim wasn't kidding that she would never admit to liking this show. It gave her something to hold over Ron. If he wanted something GWA-related, he'd have to go through her. _And I'll only accept one kind of payment…_

Some might have thought Kim was being rather dirty about this, but she didn't think so. She and Ron had only been having sex since the senior prom. Coincidently, she was screaming so loud that first time that her mother rushed in from the garage to find them on the couch (_"Mrs. Dr. Possible, I swear this isn't, maybe, kind of… what it looks like")._ It wasn't like she had slept with anyone else or was even thinking such a thing; she knew she was in for the long haul.

Ron had been lazy and put off packing for their move until the last minute. She had been helping him get his stuff together when she found something. It was a small, peacock blue, velvet box. She opened it up and found a ring made of white gold with four completely clear diamonds surrounding a single crystal-clear emerald. An engraving on the inside of the ring read _To Kim, my BFGF for life_. Ron might have gone through his Naco money like water through a sieve, but even Kim knew the kind of claude Ron must have spent on this meant one thing; this was an engagement ring.

She didn't know when he was planning on proposing; it could be tonight or after graduation. She was willing to wait, though, knowing full well that he would make it as memorable as possible.

She was awakened by a shrill noise she recognized as a foghorn blast. Apparently, the Kimmunicator had been going off for some time before Wade resorted to more drastic measures to wake her.

"Sorry, Wade, I fell asleep."

"Uh, Kim… why are you in one of Ron's jerseys?"

Kim nearly turned as red as the jersey. "Is that really important?" she asked the computer genius, who, for all his degrees, was still rather childish about sex. She expected him to start cracking wise about her and Ron's love life, but was surprised when he just gave a heavy sigh.

"So, what's the sitch, Wade?"

She had never seen Wade look so scared. "Kim, shots have been fired downtown."

"What's that got to do with me?" She asked confusedly. "I handle take-over-the-world super villains, not gang stuff."

Even from her end, Kim could feel Wade's apprehension. "The shots were fired at the culinary institute."

Kim shot upright, accidentally flashing Wade, though neither noticed. Apathy was replaced by toe-curling panic.

"Ron…"

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_Well, this dream has certainly turned into a nightmare._

Ron's night had started great. Kim had put a smile on his face that would not leave easily. Getting shot at, however, was quite enough to break his ethereal mood.

_I hate irony. I really, really, really do._

Kim's "exercise routine" wasn't the only thing that put Ron in a good mood, though it was the major factor for it. The head chef had them perform what she called the "Soufflé test". Basically, make a soufflé, easy. She had tested numerous soufflés before she got to Ron.

When she tasted his, she made a face. "I'm disappointed, Ron." Ron was confused until she added, "You've just made your year that much harder for yourself; I will expect something this good every time."

The head chef walked away, and eventually, Ron realized she had complimented him. Many of his fellow students gave him a clap on the back or a thumbs up. The night was going great for Ron Stoppable.

There was only one real thing that was unsettling in his moment of glory. Two guys stood near the back of the room. They were both dressed oddly for a culinary institute. _Who wears leather to a cooking class?_ They did not speak to anyone and barely spoke to each other.

Despite the two unsettling characters, Ron was in too good a mood to worry.

That had changed in a big hurry.

Ron was sharing his soufflé with some of the other students when the twin oak doors burst open. Two men, one with a large, hooked nose and curly, 'greasy to the point of nausea', black hair, the other with crew-cut blonde hair, ramrod straight posture, and expressionless features, looked upon the confused and scared individuals.

Neither man spoke. Before the doors had hit the walls, the two had ventilated them, sending people flying every which way trying to get to safety. Ron had to thank his Mystical Monkey Powers for his survival. He had always had a knack for dodging things, but were it not for his MMP, he knew he would've been another human model of Swiss cheese.

He fell to the floor and watched in horror as all the cooks around him collapsed, their bodies filled with more holes than a colander. The floor was quickly turning red, and Ron was finding it difficult to keep from throwing up.

Crawling under a table, he used his MMP to hide inside the lip of the table as silent tears coursed down his cheeks.

_God, you answered my prayers once, and I really hope you will again. Just let me see Kim one last time._

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The taxi Wade had called to give Kim a lift was flying through traffic, only narrowly avoiding accidents and not even attempting to slow down. It ran red light after red light and screamed across turf and asphalt. The cops that had started chasing them gave up as their engines maxed out and still could not put them alongside the cab, but it still didn't feel fast enough to Kim.

She had never been so afraid in her life. She had fought freaks the world over, been through climates Man was not meant to brave, battled Henchmen, fought against Shego on numerous occasions, and faced every kind of doomsday device ever created, some on several occasions. Yet, she had willingly taken these risks herself; she had never asked anyone to take these kinds of risks for her. Now, Ron was in a very bad sitch, one that was not of her doing and that she could not control. She kept staring out the window, willing the cab to go faster, to somehow break the laws of physics and get her to him in the blink of an eye.

_Please, God, don't let him die._

Tears welled behind her eyes, but she forced them down. Crying so would not help at this point.

At last, she saw the culinary institute. It was a moderate-looking building, only five stories tall with a flat roof and a design common of many of the older buildings in this part of the city. The large windows were dark, save for a handful in the northeast corner.

A few police cars had been arranged around the building, and a helicopter flew over the blocked-off street. As the cab came to a halt, Kim opened her door and fired her grappling gun. The hook found purchase on the roof, and with a whirr, the device yanked her up.

The cab driver knew she hadn't paid her fare, but after what she had done for him, he wouldn't have asked her for it. She hadn't thanked him for the lift, but he knew she had a lot on her mind. That computer kid had explained everything before he had picked her up.

The driver reached for the prayer beads hanging from his rear-view mirror. Gripping them tightly in his hands, he offered a quick prayer for her and her friend.

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Ron had been terrified when the gunman had opened up. Gunfire, especially when it's coming at you, is a little unnerving.

Now, though, the two men had stopped firing, and if anything, that was even more unnerving.

The two pairs of boots clomped on the now-silent floor of the kitchen. Each man moved from one side to the other, and Ron decided to sneak a peek.

He was shocked to see them checking each and every body. At last, the men started to speak.

"This is insane, man. Why can't she just be satisfied with what we bring her?" Big Nose complained, his wheeze making it sound like he had a perpetual cold. His accent seemed Italian, but combined with the nasal wheezing and a rather high-pitched voice, it was a bit harder to tell.

"She's not satisfied because you keep bringing her drug addicts and the like. She deserves better than that." Crew-cut answered him in the accent common among English thugs. His last remark was said with enough sarcasm to make Ron realize that he didn't agree with "her" logic.

"You know, she forbids the rest of us from feeding on live'uns." Big Nose complained. "I don't know why we've got to settle for packaged and chilled while she gets fresh and in its God-given container."

"Because she's in charge, that's why." Crew-cut answered, turning over another body. Big Nose just snorted, an impressive sound with his honker, and looked over another body. "Christ, man," Crew-cut said, "did you use enough bullets? I think there might be half an organ intact."

"Hey, sue me if I'm not as good a shot as you." Big Nose retorted. Considering the jumpy contents of his stomach, Ron gave a very quick glance to where he heard the voices and noticed the bodies to his left had only one hole a piece, either in the heart or the head. Those to his right had at least five, at least from where he could see; one had been practically shredded.

_Oh, God, I'm going to be sick,_ Ron thought as he struggled to hold on to his stomach's contents.

He listened with nervousness as the two men walked by his table far more slowly than he would have liked. Once the men had passed, he started to relax, only to have a large hand reach under, grab his ankle and slam him into the floor, bruising his spine on the support.

He was dragged out from under the table and looked up into the greasy face of Big Nose.

"Look, this one's alive and don't even got a hole in'em! He's perfect!"

Ron had no idea what these men were talking about, but he was sure he wasn't going to like it. He kicked out at Big Nose and caught him in the throat. As the large man gasped, Ron rolled over and ran for the door, slipping and sliding on the bloody floor.

Before he made it to the door, however, Crew-cut had blocked his way. One hit to the chest was enough to send Ron crashing to the ground, stunned. _No way he could have moved in front of me like that._

Crew-cut yanked Ron off the ground, then turned to his companion. "When the hell are you going to learn that you should never underestimate anyone?"

Ron started to struggle again, which was promptly rewarded with a crack to the skull from the butt of Crew-cut's gun.

The last thing Ron saw before he slipped into unconsciousness was a flash of red emerging from the blackness of the hall.

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Despite her urge to get to Ron as soon as possible, Kim stayed in the shadows, trying to assess the sitch. Men with guns were so much different from men with stun-staves or half-assed martial arts moves. All it took was one good shot and she would be no different from the other two dozen corpses littering the crimson-coloured linoleum. It wasn't until she saw the big man with the crew-cut knock out her Ron with the butt of his gun that she saw red, prompting her to action. To say Kim was a little pissed would have been like saying the Great Wall of China was little more than a fence; to the two men, she looked down right feral.

"Put him down now!" she shouted at the thugs.

The two men seemed frozen in place, save for the arms that raised their guns.

Kim fired her grappling hook at the ceiling and yanked herself up just as the two men opened fire. Swinging with all her might, she landed between the two. A roundhouse disarmed Crew-cut and sent him and Ron across the room.

Turning to the other thug, she landed three blows- a kick to disarm him, a punch to the stomach to force him to bend over, and finally, a knee to the face. As the man fell to the floor, clutching his furiously bleeding nose, she turned to the first thug.

He had stood up and was watching her carefully. "Very impressive." he said as he slipped out of his large coat. "I haven't had a real challenge in years."

Kim dropped into a fighting stance. "Are you going to fight or just talk? 'Cause I really don't have time for talking."

"Don't worry, bitch; I'm game."

With that, the man moved towards Kim far faster than she had been expecting, indeed faster than any human should have been able to. He aimed a punch for her head, which she ducked underneath and then tried a sweep kick at his legs.

He didn't jump over her legs, but instead caught her ankle and swung her around, giving her a good beating from the tables. Kim was reeling from the multiple blows, but quickly composed herself. She kicked out between his legs, connecting with her target. He howled, let go of her and grabbed his injury. _This guy is good,_ she thought to herself.

He finally stood up with something that was halfway between a snarl and a smirk on his face. "You're going to pay for that, you stupid bitch.

"You know, I'm really getting tired of that word."

The man smiled at that, "Would you prefer slut instead?"

_Oh, it's on,_ Kim thought. She tried a high kick for his head, but he blocked it and tried to punch her in the stomach. Kim caught his fist and landed her blow where she had just injured him. The man's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but he didn't fall down. "Hard enough?" she asked in biting sarcasm mixed with just a little rage.

The man just growled, and his attacks came faster than ever before. It was all Kim could do to avoid each move. Punch, block, kick, block, roundhouse, dodge, sweep kick, dodge. _I can't keep this up forever,_ she thought. Kim knew there was only one way to win this fight and she really wouldn't like it.

Kim has been trained in sixteen kinds of Kung Fu, though her most highly utilized style was the Mantis Style, despite what she had told Hirotaka about dabbling. Based on the moves of a Praying Mantis, such aggressive style was designed to allow someone to take on someone much larger than themselves. This was what made the style an ideal one for the petit cheerleader.

However, in each kind of Kung Fu, there are five different forms: the drunken form, which involves a lot of false stepping to throw your opponent off balance as well as focusing on groin, eye, and throat shots. The standing form, which was specifically designed for tall people, so that they may take advantage of their longer reach. The crafty form, in which your moves are purposefully clumsy, to give the impression of weakness, so that you can retaliate with striking force when it is least expected (this style had proven most useful with Shego). The wood form, which is the most aggressive and least subtle of the forms, and last but not least, the fifth, and by far, Kim's most hated, was stone form.

The stone form involved a rather blunt objective- to purposefully leave a spot on your body vulnerable to attack. When your opponent hits that spot, you take advantage of the opening in their defences and strike; the downside was that you would be struck first. Of course, getting struck at all did not appeal to Kim.

_This is going to hurt like hell,_ Kim thought as she switched tactics. Three punches and a kick came at her in rapid succession, all of which she blocked easily. At last, a punch aimed at her opening came and struck her. The result was not what she had expected.

She had known the blow was going to hurt, but she had not expected it to hurt that much. Perhaps most surprising about the resultant wound was the loud snap; that, combined with the pain made Kim realize she had broken a rib. _There is no way a normal person can hit someone like that and break a rib,_ she thought. Thoughts of retaliation left her mind; learning how to breathe again was first and foremost. Her opponent was not willing to give her that kind of a break, though.

Before she could even gasp, he had made his way behind her and picked her off the ground. He took hold of her left arm and cleanly broke it. "I told you you'd were going to pay for that one."

Kim had not believed that kind of pain was possible. Tears of agony fell from her eyes, and her opponent threw her into the column in the center of the room, aggravating her injuries more.

A huffing sound came from Crew-cut's side, and he turned to see Big Nose next to him, both guns in his hands. The blood around his nose had dried, but he looked mad as a rabid beast.

"I say we kill the redhead."

Crew-cut never had time to answer that as a low growl came from behind them. The two turned white (well, whiter) and turned. Kim had never taken her eyes off the two of them and couldn't believe what she was seeing.

A great beast stood before them; its heavily muscled form was covered with fine, sparse hair. Its great hands ended in massive talons, and its elongated snout was lined with fangs, some of which had to be at least half an inch long. It was unlike anything Kim had ever seen, and she'd seen a lot. _It's like some cross between a wolf, a cat, and a bodybuilder,_ Kim thought. _Professor Dementor would be envious of this thing._ Perhaps most bizarre was that the beast appeared to be in a leather jacket.

The two men blinked before Big Nose shouted "Lycan!" Crew-cut grabbed the gun from Big Nose's left hand and, after ejecting the still full clip (_Why on earth would he do that?_), he slammed in a new one while Big Nose opened fire.

With a roar that shook the glass (and cleaned out Big Nose's bladder), the Lycan leaped towards the two. With a swing of its massive paw, it knocked Crew-cut's gun to the east wall, and Crew-cut himself was sent flying to the west wall, near Ron.

The beast grabbed Big Nose's hand, his talons cutting through the flesh easily. In pain, Big Nose dropped the gun, and as he screamed, the beast clamped its fangs into his throat and began sucking deeply and messily. Kim felt no other recourse and threw up.

Crew-cut had by now gotten up. Grabbing Ron, he looked at Kim with relish. "See you in hell, bitch." He said as he ran out the fire door, leaving Kim alone with this thing.

His first meal dead, the Lycan now turned to Kim. Kim spotted the gun lying next to the east wall. Drawing her grapple gun, she fired as the Lycan leapt. The micro-motor dragged her out of the rampaging beast's way just in time. She picked up the gun in her good hand and, turning it towards the Lycan, fired as it leapt at her once again. As the first bullets hit its form, it slammed into her, sending the two of them through the east wall and into the room beyond.

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Kim woke up in very little pain. It was so dark. She could barely breathe.

_Why can't I breathe?_

_Oh, good Lord, it's on top of me._

Pushing with all her might, she could not budge the heavy form on top of her. She soon realized why- its teeth were clamped around her head.

Prying open the jaws of this creature was perhaps the hardest thing Kim had ever done; even so, she opened the jaws and shoved them to her side.

Everywhere she looked, she saw blood; and yet, it did not matter.

A sight she had never seen before occurred right before her eyes- the beast slowly but surely transformed into a man. And yet, it did not matter.

_Why am I so apathetic? Why do I not feel any pain?_

Kim realized in the same apathetic way she had seen everything else… _I'm dying._

The blood on the floor was, for the most part, hers. Her left arm wasn't moving; she couldn't see out of her left eye. Each breath shot pain through her body, but the pain was dulled and growing weaker by the moment. As she looked down, she saw all eight of the man/beast's fingers were lodged in her shoulders… and she couldn't feel them.

Sirens came from the street, growing louder and louder. Kim would have laughed if it were possible.

_I've lost too much blood. They'll never get here in time._

Kim wanted to fight, but she knew in her soul that she couldn't.

_I'm dying._

Death wasn't so bad, she realized. The pain was fading; her nightmare had ended. She had led a good life; she had helped a lot of people and had no regrets.

That wasn't true; she did have one regret. She regretted being unable to save Ron.

Ron.

Her best friend since Pre-K.

Her boyfriend since junior prom.

Her lover since senior prom.

Her future husband.

She should have felt sad, but in truth, she felt nothing.

Nothing as the blackness claimed her.

Nothing except a deep love of Ron as a song she thought she had forgotten played through her head.


	2. Harsh awakenings

Thanks to all those who have reviewed. I certainly hope that the rest of my story is viewed in such a positive light. Remember, write a review; get a response.

I am trying to get my chapters out in good order, but unfortunately, I cannot guarantee anything. I will get them done when I can, and post them, but they may come stretches when schoolwork has to come before this.

Once again, I don't own anything, except my truck. Although, if I could trade my truck for Kim Possible and Underworld, I would be rich enough to buy my truck back...

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The pain was incredible. Few words could be used to describe such agony as that which ripped through the poor bugger's body. Limbs felt numb, but as feeling returned to them, a pricking sensation was felt by the mind. Every part of the body started numb, but ached as it finally woke up. The metallic taste of blood was sensed by the tongue. Many words passed through the mind, few of them polite; no, only one word would convey the pain that the body felt.

"Ouch."

Ron felt absolutely terrible; worse than the night he convinced Kim to let him enter that all-you-can-eat Naco contest. His skull hurt worst of all. He lifted a hand to his forehead and winced as the slight brushing motion shot pain through the massive lump that had formed.

He stretched his body out, feeling stiff and sore as never before. His bones cracked loudly; those that didn't felt as though they were not aligned properly.

"Ouch."

_I got to quit saying that and find a way out of here,_ Ron thought. He opened his eyes and was confronted by darkness.

No, it wasn't true darkness. It was just a really, really, dim room. The bulb that lit up the place was a tiny, nearly invisible thing connected to the ceiling.

_Would it have killed them to spring for more than a fifteen watt bulb?_

Ron looked around the tiny room. It was a perfect six by six square. All the walls were bare; the only thing that broke the monotony was a massive, iron door similar to the rounded ones you would see on warships in the military movies his Dad liked. The ceiling was the interesting bit, though.

The ceiling had to have been at least twelve feet above him. The single, miniscule bulb stood in the centre of the ceiling. Off in a corner was a security camera, the red light on top blinking. The message was clear- we're watching you; don't try anything.

_I got to get out of here,_ Ron thought. Even though he didn't know where here was, he knew it was bad. _I mean, come on; you do not get hit in the head with a gun and locked in a dungeon if it's something good._

Ron got up off the floor; it took him a moment to work out the kinks. It seemed rather pointless, but he still tried the door. As expected, there was no way to open it from his side, and his experimental taps told him that the door was very thick.

Feeling frustrated, Ron turned away from the door. There was nothing in his cell to use; it was totally bare. Part of Ron wanted to panic, but even he knew that really wasn't going help him out of this sitch. He thought of calling Wade, but a quick pat of his pocket told him that he had been cleaned out. He also noticed his wallet and watch were gone as well.

_Holding prisoners 101: take anything and everything from them before you lock them in their cell. Huh, I wonder how Drakken never figured that out?_

Ron was not concerned about his wallet. There was no money in it, before someone could start using his credit cards, they would have to pay off some of his balance. And the watch came in a box of 'Fearless Ferret Crunch'. No, what concerned Ron was what this meant: he was not dealing with amateurs.

Pacing wasn't going to do any good. He couldn't do a thing about the door. Anything that he might have used to affect his escape had been removed from his person. Ron decided to do the one thing he could do.

Sitting down on the floor, Ron crossed his legs and, positioning his hands just right, began to meditate.

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After their senior year of high school had ended, Ron and Kim decided to spend two months of their summer vacation at Yamanuchi. Sensei taught the two "trainees" many new techniques. He had Ron spend much time sparring with Kim, eventually managing to develop enough skill to throw her to the ground a few times. The two spent most of their time with Sensei. The Yamanuchi curriculum, Ron learned, was much more difficult than he had been introduced to. Before, they had focused exclusively on Ninjutsu to prepare him for his fight with Monkey Fist. He had read about Genjutsu and Taijutsu, but Sensei had said he wasn't ready to learn them. Now, Ron and Kim found themselves facing the full load.

It had proved rather challenging even for Kim. They found themselves taking many of the great classical works of literature, from numerous Japanese men whose names Ron could not pronounce to the likes of Greek philosophers such as Aristotle and Socrates. Sensei required that they master traditional Japanese and High Greek, both spoken and written, before they even began their studies, so that they would take the text in its original language. Ron had proven a master of language (Rabbi Katz had always said that he had never seen someone take to the Hebrew language so easily), but Kim had had a few more troubles. She eventually caught on, with a bit of help from Ron, and in return, she helped him understand the philosophy that they were reading. When asked why they were learning so much "school stuff" as Ron put it, Sensei said, "We do not teach fools to fight."

At the same time, Sensei also had them working on memorizing (with the full ability to use them, of course) complex mathematical formulas. As well, he had them in a rigorous physical fitness regimen that left even Kim gasping, and did much worse to Ron. All of this, combined with Kim's sparring sessions led to a full day. And that was not the end of the day for the two very tired hero/heroine/trainees.

They spent dawn and dusk with Sensei in the tea room of Yamanuchi. The tea room, they learned, is the most respected of the old traditions. Everything, from the boiling of the water to the mixing and even the drinking of the tea was highly ritualized. All weapons were checked at the door; the tea room was a place of peace, serenity, and quiet contemplation. "Even the greatest Samurai would take off his swords before entering the tea room." Sensei had told them.

Perhaps the most interesting, and most inconvenient, lesson was the meditation. Though the hours were rather painful, the two found them fascinating. A test of concentration, as Sensei put it. "You must close your mind to the outside world, and gaze within. There is nothing; and yet, there is something more." These lessons had taken perhaps more time to learn than the others for a few reasons. One was that Ron kept falling asleep. Another was that it proved very difficult to clear your mind of all thoughts, especially when your hands hurt in that position and your legs were falling asleep. Kim found the latter especially hard; she had always been doing so much that she had grown accustomed to having a lot on her mind. In time, the two had managed to master the technique of meditation.

About halfway through their training, Ron approached Sensei. "I got to ask you. I mean, it is bon-diggity that you decided to work your schedule around to train with us constantly, but why are you making us work so hard?" Ron asked, expecting a complex, philosophical answer, but Sensei instead answered, "The average student takes fourteen years to learn what you and Miss Possible are attempting to in merely two months." Well, Ron couldn't quite combat that logic.

The last two weeks of Ron's training was spent on learning proper sword fighting technique, and both he and Kim took a good deal of Latin poetry. Of course, Sensei required them to learn Latin first, but thankfully their year of High School Latin helped immensely.

Their time at Yamanuchi done, Sensei proclaimed the two full graduates of the school. The two left, hand in hand, to spend their last month of holidays on vacation and getting caught up on the "activities" they had been too tired to do while at Yamanuchi.

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Ron might have not fully enjoyed much of their time at Yamanuchi, but he had benefited in many ways. Though he was never a muscle bound jock, he had developed a fit form. Kim told him that she would love him no matter what he looked like, and he believed her, but he noticed she seemed to enjoy dragging her hand over his six-pack when she thought he was asleep. The other major benefit, in his mind, was the meditation; the ability to "get your head in the game", as Kim put it, had proved invaluable.

Breathing deeply, Ron soon felt a familiar sense of peace wash over him. His fears were gone; he was a piece of the greater force behind the universe. He was whole in a sea of nothing. _Kim…_

It had proved that there was indeed one thing which would not leave his mind. Sensei had decided that Ron needed a focus, something his mind could concentrate on in order to enter a meditative state. What better thing for a focus than the one thing Ron could never clear his mind of?

Ron did not know how long he was in that state, but he knew it was time to return. He didn't know how he knew to do so, he just did.

As he left his meditation behind him, he became consciously aware of what his unconscious mind had told him: someone was coming. Great clomping footsteps rang through his small prison; he rose and gazed at the door.

A loud grinding sound was heard, and with a massive creak, the door opened, revealing five figures behind it. Four were your average thugs: tall, muscular, faceless. The fifth man was someone Ron had grown to know all too well: Crew-cut.

Nodding his head, the Englishman said, "Alright, let's go." Seeing no other recourse, Ron stepped out of his cell. Immediately, the four men formed around him, with Crew-cut in the lead, and the small party started marching down the hall.

Ron looked around in silence as they walked. _Something tells me these guys are not into small talk._ The hall they were walking down was as bare as his room. Lit with lone bulbs at common intervals, they passed iron door after iron door. A few turns, and they headed towards an old elevator with two men stood inside. One was operating the old lever mechanism that ran the elevator, while the other was clearly a guard, armed with two guns that Ron could see. Not a word was spoken as they ascended to wherever they were going. This was too much for Ron.

"Uh, guys, listen, I was just wondering…"

Ron bent double from a massive blow to his stomach before he could finish his sentence. The guard that had struck him faced forward once again, while Crew-cut spoke without turning his head. "I would not recommend speaking."

Ron decided that maybe he had a point.

The elevator stopped, at last, and Ron and his "entourage" walked down this new corridor. Unlike the first, this was not a prison level. As he walked down the reasonably well-lit halls, he saw through the large, plate-glass windows what looked like a practice range. The men inside were training with firearms, lifting weights, and sparring on dojo mats. Ron was briefly amused by the fact that the one holding her own in the dojo was a woman only half the size of her male opponents. He did not have too long to be amused, though, as the fast pace set by his captors was enforced quite brutally every time he tried to slow down.

He felt so many eyes upon him. Some seemed as if they were laughing at him, while others seemed venomous at his presence. Ron did not know why they were staring at him like this, but again, he was not given much time to contemplate the fact.

The small group approached and entered another elevator, this one with two guards. Rising once again, they exited onto a floor unlike the first one.

This floor looked as if it had been brought out of a medieval movie. A long, red carpet stretched from the elevator into the distance. Suits of armour alternated with old style paintings of various figures, none of which Ron could recognize. The color of the walls was questionable in the pale light given off by the candlelit chandeliers lining the ceiling. Whoever owned this place had a great deal of money.

Ron found himself walking at a fast pace as their path quickly became more twisted. _Left, right, right, right, left, right, right, right, left, left, left, right… I am never going to remember this._ Eventually, Ron found himself in a large lobby, which sported vaulted ceilings with great gothic arches like those he had seen on churches on TV. The stained-glass windows between each column had a style reminiscent of medieval art; the pictures inside clearly spoke to that fact. Filled with images of saints and miracles, all with a very traditional appearance. _So, whoever captured me is probably Catholic._ One odd thing Ron noticed about the stained-glass windows was that none actually were utilized as windows; all were lit from behind by candles.

He approached a massive set of doors. They appeared to be made of wood, painted red and studded with brass; it was an imposing sight. On the door in raised, gold letters were the words 'In Nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sanctu." Two guards stood in front of the door, who, after nodding curtly to Crew-cut, simultaneously opened them. The sight beyond was absolutely incredible.

A massive ballroom spread out before them. The great, circular floor before them was of green marble, shined to a reflective finish. To both sides were great staircases, curving in perfect symmetry to one another from the ballroom floor to a balcony up above, which had a large, ornately done ledge in front of it. At its rear were three columns, and at the side of each column was a red drape, currently tied back to allow people beyond. The walls were lined with massive paintings around twelve feet tall. The ceiling was even decorated; the perfect circle of which was a veritable star map, revealing not only the stars, but also their movements, the constellations, and for a select few, their names. The map had been done in the most unique of fashions. One could only see the various wordings and lines if the light hit it a certain way. Any other way, and the print, the pathways, and the constellations disappeared.

_Scratch my earlier comment about this person being rich. Whoever this is, they are llllllooooaaaaddddedddddd._

The small group marched up the stairs as the few people currently in the ballroom looked at Ron, and as Ron looked at them. Though dressed in relatively modern clothes (Ron recognized one dress from that fashion show Monique put him and Kim through a few weeks ago), they were all very expensive clothes. Their attitudes were something else, though. The way these people walked, looked at him, and spoke was like something out of a movie. _It's like they're a bunch of aristocrats from the 1800s or something._

As they climbed the stairs, a woman stepped in their way. Similar to Kim, she was a redhead with emerald green eyes. That was where the similarities ended, though. Her long, curly hair trailed down to her butt, and her smile seemed… off. "Surely she wouldn't mind letting me enjoy him first." She said, clearly relishing her view of Ron.

Crew-cut scoffed at that. "Actually, I think she would mind. Now if you'll excuse us…"

The smile not leaving her face, she reached between the guards and grabbed Ron's manhood. "Why do I never get to try the good ones?" She moaned, groaning longingly as she copped a feel.

"Just get out of the way, slut," Crew-cut said. It was quite clear to her that Crew-cut had had enough, and she stepped to the side to let them pass.

At the top of the stairs, the group turned down the left corridor. Marching down a long hall, Ron couldn't help but notice guards had replaced the suits of armour. _This is just a guess, but I think I'm about to meet the boss lady._

At long last, they reached an iron door painted royal purple with gold trim. His group suddenly halted, and Crew-cut alone stepped forward. Ron was unable to see what the man was doing, but within a few moments, the door opened, and Crew-cut turned towards Ron. "Get in."

Ron looked around; "Ah, look, I really don't want to…"

"Just get in."

"You know, small, dark room…"

"Get. In."

"I don't know what's in there…"

Crew-cut had had enough at this point. Grabbing Ron by one ear, he thrust the captive through the door and closed it behind him.

Ron tried the door which was, surprise of surprises, locked. He turned and looked around the room he had been shoved into.

It was dark; too dark for him to see clearly. He took a few tentative steps forward and jumped when a voice spoke from the blackness.

"I was wondering when you would arrive."

The unmistakable sound of high heels hitting the floor sounded, and a figure stepped from the shadows. The light accentuated her _very _generous curves; her smooth arms seemed so soft and yet so pale. Her obsidian hair shined in the light, and a smirk decorated her face, which seemed to have been moulded from alabaster clay. Only two words went through Ron's mind to describe this woman.

_Bad. Road._

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Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

That sound was familiar.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was annoying, too.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kim felt a twinge of pain as she woke up; years of experience allowed her to shove that to a corner of her mind. She felt so tired; she didn't even yet have the strength to open her eyes.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

_That's what that beeping is,_ Kim thought. _It's a heart monitor. I must be in a hospital._

It was still very annoying.

As she grew more conscious of her surroundings, she became aware of IV tubes in her arms. Her senses were coming back to her slowly as her strength resurged.

Suddenly, her senses shot to full strength. It was maddening, as if every sense was in complete overload.

Her hearing was incredible; what should have been muffled sounds were clear enough for her to understand, and she was easily able to pinpoint the exact location of the sound.

Smells she had never been aware of flooded her system. Before, she could have recognized that sterile, hospital formaldehyde smell; now, she could tell so much more. She knew the cleaning agent was quite old and was, by now, relatively ineffective; she could smell various colognes as well as what the owners of those scents had eaten for breakfast; lipsticks, perfumes, natural human pheromones all assaulted her nasal passages in an unrelenting torrent.

Kim opened her mouth, inhaled deeply and found she could taste the very air. And at long last, she opened her eyes.

A brilliant, blinding light forced them closed once again; she let out a quick "ahh" and tried once again, more slowly this time. She eventually grew accustomed to the light, but also noticed that it still seemed a touch too bright.

The term "sensory overload" ran through her mind.

_Okay, what the hell is going on?_

Kim gazed around her hospital room. It was semi-private, with a curtain that could be drawn, so no one could stare at you. There was no one else in the room, so Kim did not worry about the fact the curtains were open. There were a couple of televisions, but none of them were on. Kim looked around her bed.

The general hospital equipment was all around her. The heart monitor to her left was still working, but there was something odd about it. Kim wasn't sure what it was, though. To her right were an IV and a blood pack, both connected into her arms. It was at this moment that Kim remembered what had happened to place her here.

_Crew-cut…_

_That thing…_

_Ron…_

Kim decided that she needed some answers, NOW. She felt around her bed and soon found the control with the two buttons given to every patient. She pressed the call button and waited.

She didn't have to wait long. Within moments of pressing her call button, Kim heard the sound of someone running for her room. She also noticed that the sound was coming from at least one floor below her. _There is no way I should be able to hear that…_

She sat up and looked at the door, which promptly opened. The nurse seemed absolutely shocked at the sight of Kim; she even clapped a hand over her mouth. Kim opened her mouth to speak, but the nurse turned and ran back the way she came. _Nice people they have working around here,_ Kim thought distastefully. Kim listened to the retreating form of the nurse and soon heard her coming back, only this time with a companion. Once again, the door opened to reveal the nurse and a doctor stood there.

Both seemed shocked at the appearance of the room's occupant. Needless to say, she was a little frustrated at this point. "What?" She said, more than a touch of impatience in her voice. The doctor stepped into the room; he was a younger man of about thirty. His black hair was cropped short, and his facial hair was done in a moustache and goatee. His tanned skin seemed to shine in the fluorescent light of the room, and Kim could smell the use of tanning salon oil wafting off him to her hyper-sensitized nasal passage. In fact, she quickly found that with one sniff, she knew a lot about this man. He wasn't married, as he didn't have a ring, but he was having sex with someone. He didn't eat meat (_How do I know that?_), and he not only tanned in a salon, but spent a lot of time at a spa. Whatever car he drove used premium gasoline. He shaved daily, and perhaps most bizarre of all, Kim could tell he'd had a vasectomy.

All that information from just one sniff. _This is impossible._

The doctor seemed a little wide-eyed as he looked at Kim. Kim herself hadn't felt this tweaked since the Moodulator Incident. "Ten dollars," Kim said.

The doctor seemed confused.

"If you're just planning on staring at me, I'm going to charge you ten dollars for the right to."

That earned a quick smirk from the nurse. "I apologize, miss. I didn't mean any disrespect. It's just that your situation is rather unique." The doctor, with a broad smile (_his teeth are capped_), said. Kim didn't like the way he said 'unique'. "Miss, how do you feel right now?"

Kim was a little caught off guard by that question. The truth of the matter was that she felt… good, strong, like she was only getting stronger. She was a little weirded out by the way her senses were working, but decided not to ask about that. "I feel fine, to be perfectly honest." Kim said with a straight face.

"You're not sleepy or in any pain at all?"

Kim was growing a touched concerned at this point. "No."

"Huh."

Okay, that was the last straw. "What do you mean, 'huh'?"

The doctor had backed himself into a corner and knew it. He wrestled with himself for a moment before he decided simply to tell her. "Look, Miss… come to think of it, what is your name?"

"Kim Possible," she said. _Figures that the one person on this planet who doesn't know who I am is my doctor._

The doctor wrote it down on her chart. "Miss Possible, you were very badly injured. You had a great deal of internal haemorrhaging and rather severe bruising. We felt that you would be in too much pain; as such, we had you in a chemically induced coma."

Kim was no med student, but she understood what that meant. Technically speaking, she either should have been totally unconscious until the doctor revived her or if the doctor was an incompetent and failed to properly administer the chemicals, she would have not only woken up groggy, but in an incredible amount of pain. At least now she understood why the two had stared at her for so long.

Nodding her head, the doctor continued. "Also, we found several other anomalies with you. For starters, your heartbeat is far faster than that of a normal person. When you first came in, we thought you were having a heart attack." Kim had thought her heart monitor was weird, and it came as a shock to her that it was her own heart that was making the heart monitor act weird. _Makes sense when you think about it, _she thought, _the monitor only shows what's it's programmed to._

"Your blood work is also completely the opposite of most people. Let me explain: the average person has nineteen million red blood cells per teaspoon of blood. You have sixty four million." Kim's eyes shot open at that number. "You also have around twice the white blood cell count of a normal person, and your platelet count is continuing to grow at an unprecedented rate."

The doctor drew some X-rays from her file and, after arranging them on the projector, turned it on and revealed them to Kim. "Your skeletal structure is changing as well. Most people's bones are full of countless, miniscule air pockets, like a sponge. Your bones are solid, through and through. And yet, at the same time, they are flexible and disconnected. It's almost as if your body is adapting in order to reshape itself."

The nurse had by now moved beside Kim's bed and was checking all the equipment. The doctor continued. "Also, your brain waves are unlike anything I've ever seen in my life. Then, there's the matter of your pronounced muscle development, the natural redesigning of your internal organs, and the restructuring of your digestive tract… all of this is occurring within you, right now."

Kim was finding this all a little hard to absorb. _This is so totally beyond weird,_ she thought to herself. It was then that she realized the doctor had continued to speak. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

The doctor smiled and said "I was simply pointing out that perhaps one of the stranger points of your… condition was this enzyme we discovered in your system. It appears to serve no purpose. It only builds up in your body until the 'anti-enzyme' flushes it out. Approximately once every twenty-nine-point-five days, if our calculations are correct."

The doctor rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was clearly quite excited and at the same time confused by what was happening. Kim was trying to absorb all of this and was a little surprised that, once she gave a deal of thought to it, it was proving relatively easy. It seemed a tad strange (definitely was very confusing as to the reason for these changes), but then again, after all the weirdoes she had fought, this seemed almost miniscule. _Besides, it doesn't sound anything he said is going to kill me._

The doctor thought for a moment and then said, "Miss Possible, when you arrived at this hospital, you were a completely normal human being with a very rapid heartbeat. Every change I have described to you has only occurred in the past sixteen hours or so."

The doctor rose, leaving Kim still a little shocked. "I have to place a call. Excuse me."

The doctor and the nurse both exited, but before leaving, the doctor turned back to Kim and said, "By the way, Miss Possible, how long ago did you break your arm?"

"My arm?"

"I'm only wondering because whoever set the bone did so crookedly."

Kim looked down at her left arm; she knew it had been broken by the man with the crew-cut. Yet, it was not in a cast, and though it looked very slightly curved, it was completely fine. Kim did not know what to say, though she had a sneaking suspicion 'last night' was not going to go over well. _They already think I'm a freak of nature. I don't want them to decide they want to start studying me._

"A few years ago. I'm not sure exactly when." Kim lied.

The doctor nodded and left, leaving Kim alone to wonder about her arm.

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"My name is Malia Julianus Constantine. I am pleased to meet you Mr. Stoppable."

To say that Ron was a little creeped out would have been akin to saying he kinda-sorta liked Kim. Indeed, he hadn't felt this nervous since he shared a cabin with Bobo the chimp at 'the place of evil'.

The lights were turned up a little brighter, but it was still dim. _Mood lighting,_ Ron thought with a sense of distaste. He wouldn't deny that she was very beautiful, but he loved Kim and would never cheat on her. Even if he was the kind of scum that would, there was something about this woman. _I thought Monkey Fist was bad road, but I don't think he has anything on her._

Ron could see the room quite clearly despite the dimness. It was massive, about the size of Kim and Ron's penthouse apartment. The only difference was that this was only a single room. He didn't know how big this place was, but he had a feeling that there were at least a few rooms like this one. He looked around and saw a table arranged with candles and silver covered platters down the few steps to the main floor. A few steps to his right led to a massive bed that dwarfed the one he and Kim shared. Another taller staircase to his left led to a bathroom that looked more like a swimming pool. Art of various forms decorated the walls, the most prominent of which were photo-realistic paintings of saints that decorated the walls, floors, ceiling, and even the bed posts. That, combined with the crucifix around this woman's neck, told Ron he was right in assuming the person in charge was Catholic.

"Come, Mr. Stoppable; join me at my table." With that, she turned and walked down the stairs. The tight gown she wore was made of thin material and, in truth, didn't hide much. Her back was revealed almost to her butt, and she seemed to take special care to try and draw Ron's attention to its motion. Ron was secretly pleased that his libido was not stirring at her attempts to arouse his 'interests'.

She took a seat at her table; her gown opened up in front to give a **very** good view of her abundant cleavage. Everything about her, from her clothes to the way she moved, was clearly all for the purpose of arousal. _Boy, she is going to be pissed when she learns it was all for nothing._

Ron, not knowing what else to do, hesitantly stepped down the short staircase and sat across from her. She smiled at him once again, sending shivers through Ron's spine. She reached out with her hand to stroke his cheek, making Ron jump. Still smiling, she pulled her hand back and clapped them. A shuffling sound was instantly heard from behind Ron.

A man walked forward, short and a bit round. If Ron had to guess, he would say 'servant' would have been his title. The man pushed a small cart with two bottles towards the table. He uncorked one and filled Malia's glass halfway. Uncorking the other bottle, he half filled Ron's glass with white wine. Malia sipped her glass, while Ron merely looked at his. "What seems to be the problem, Mr. Stoppable?" She asked, still smiling.

"How do I know that this isn't poisoned?" Ron asked, being a touch cautious, he felt for good reason.

"You don't; you'll just have to trust me." She answered, still smirking.

_Please, I wouldn't trust you to hold my place in line,_ he thought. Ron looked at his drink, leaned back in his chair and looked at her. She clapped her hands once again, and her servant came from what Ron realized was a small kitchen (_She has her own private kitchen?_) with a cloth over one arm. Circling the table, he lifted the silver covers off of each of the platters. One was a tray of escargot, served with a garlic sauce that smelled divine. Another tray was a lobster risotto, with an almost buttery texture to it. The third was a dish Ron could not identify, but it still smelled fantastic.

"Please, Ronald, enjoy yourself." She said, spreading her arms wide to showcase the various delicacies at his disposal.

"I prefer Mr. Stoppable." It might not have been wise to talk back to his captor like that, but Ron was a little tweaked at this point.

"Ronald, I do hope you will enjoy yourself, the food, the wine… my 'pleasurable company'." She said, still with that insufferable smirk as she leaned over the table, revealing as much of her cleavage as possible. She continued "You see, Ronald, I have tastes, needs that must be fulfilled. And I am usually prevented from enjoying them by Amelia, the elder in charge of this house. But while she's gone, and I am in charge, I will see these needs thoroughly enjoyed." She cocked an eyebrow at him as she said that last part.

Ron was for the most part the same guy he had always been. He had changed in certain aspects since dating Kim, however. He had developed a more serious side, and in this sitch, he was utilizing it to its full potential.

He looked Malia right in the eye, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of looking at her breasts. "If you're so desperate for sex," he said, "why don't you just go stand at a street corner? I'm sure you could find someone eager to pay for your 'pleasurable company'." He smirked at this last bit, holding eye contact.

Her eyes widened at that comment, though the smile never left her face as she sat back down. "I am not talking about sex, Ronald. The food, the wine, the view," she said, gesturing to her cleavage. "This is all for your enjoyment."

Ron held up a hand at this point. "Okay, one: I don't like wine. Two: I can cook a fine enough meal on my own. And three: I only enjoy sex with one person, and it's not you."

Silence came across the table, and Malia's smile at last left her face. "Ronald, consider this your last meal, your final enjoyment of Earthly pleasures."

Ron shivered at her words and felt only colder as she continued.

"You see, you're not going to survive the night…"


	3. Dark Moon Rising

"Yes, I'm pulling up to the hospital, now. We'll do what we have to do. I only hope she is cooperative."

Hanging up his cell phone, the man slid it into his pocket. His companion came back from the hotdog stand with a plain dog for his partner, and a chilli cheese dog for himself.

"My cousin just called. Believe it or not, she's awake."

"Really? I would've thought she'd've been dead," the tall man said as he bit into his chilli-cheese dog. "Oh, here's yours, Ed."

Ed was shorter than his partner. He was also rounder, and the hair on his head was starting to thin. He didn't know how his partner could stand to have a moustache. His had itched way too much when he started growing it out.

"By the way, I might have told my cousin we were pulling up to the hospital already."

Finishing his dog, the tall man looked down at his partner and friend. "Why on earth would you tell him that? We're at least twenty minutes away."

Ed shrugged. "My cousin has a tendency to worry. I like to make him sweat."

The tall man grinned at that, his moustache hiding most of his smirk. Taking the keys from his pocket, he said, "Alright, let's go." With that, Ed hopped into the passenger seat of the police car parked just by the curb.

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The two arrived at the hospital within an hour. Ed's cousin could be seen standing in front of the building, looking like he was sweating bullets.

The tall man looked out his window. "Good God, is that your cousin right there?"

Ed grimaced as he realized it was. "Yep, that's him alright. I told you he was a worrywart." As they pulled up in the parking lot, the fearful-looking doctor ran over to the passenger side.

"Ed, you told me that you were pulling up right away forty five minutes ago. What took you so long?"

Ed shrugged, "Yeah, I'm sorry about that, but we decided to stop for coffee first."

"You did what? I could possibly have a fully conscious murderer in my hospital, and you went out for coffee? Do you have any idea what she could have done to me? I should report your negligence right now."

The tall man could see why Ed loved to jerk this guy's chain. _I have never seen someone so self-serving in my life,_ the cop thought.

Ed started to approach his cousin. "Okay, buddy boy, listen up. One: this isn't your hospital; last I checked, you haven't even been invited to sit in through a surgery yet." The tall cop grinned mightily at that remark. "Two: she has not yet been convicted of any crime, and there is no way, at this time, to know if she will be. Three: you don't control my life. Got it?" With the last word, he had backed up the doctor against the wall of the building. The man looked ready to piss himself.

"I got it." he said, gulping nervously.

"Good." Ed said, backing off from the frightened doctor. He turned away and said, "By the way, you have a zit on your chin."

The tall cop walked after his partner. Once they were out of hearing range, he said "Why did you tell him he had a zit on his chin?"

Ed's grin stretched across his face. "'Cause now he'll spend his day looking for it."

The tall cop asked him "Does he have a zit on his chin?"

"Damned if I know." The two men laughed as they entered the elevator.

The tall man looked down on his friend. The two had known each other since the second grade. They had both been at the academy together, and both had served as the other's best man. The tall cop's daughter was married and living in San Francisco, while Ed's twin sons operated a garage just north of here. It was the only place the tall cop would take his car.

Ed turned to his friend/partner and said, "So, what do you know about our suspect?"

The tall cop opened a file he was carrying. "Her name is Kimberly Anne Possible. Daughter of James Timothy and Anne Jean…"

"Skip to the good parts." Ed could be rather impatient, but in this instance, he decided to skip a few pages. "Come on, man, we've all heard of her anyway."

The tall man smiled; "Of course, the L'il Diablos."

Ed took the folder from his friend and gave it the once over. "Look at this stuff, would ya? She's fought everyone from Drakken to Team Impossible; she's traveled the world, battling whack-jobs I never care to meet, for free above all else. I just find it hard to believe that she would actually kill someone."

The tall man fiddled with a corner of his moustache and said, "I don't believe it, either. My cousin knows Kim, and he speaks quite highly of her. But she's the only suspect we got, the only lead. We need to find out what she can tell us."

The tall man and Ed stepped off the elevator and walked briskly down the hall. Stopping at the reception station, they asked where Kim was. The woman told them, and the two were off again. At last, they arrived at Kim's room. The tall cop reached out to knock on her door, when Kim said, "You can come in."

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Before the cops had arrived, Kim had been left alone in her room. Unplugging the heart monitor, she pried the rubber sensors off her chest and, cinching up the flimsy paper gown as best she could, stepped off her bed. She dared not attempt to remove the needles from the IV and blood pack, but that was not much of a problem as they were mounted on wheels. She walked to the end of her bed and looked at the chart.

**Patient: Kim Possible**

_Freshly written, of course_, Kim thought to herself. She certainly wasn't conceited, not in the least. But come on, this is the Kim Possible we're talking about. She who saves the world frequently, gets straight A's in all her classes, wins the cheer regional…

Okay, maybe she was a little conceited, but only a little.

**Injuries as follows:**

**Severe internal haemorrhaging of the sternum due to blunt force trauma**

**Concussion, most likely severe**

**Four deep puncture wounds in each shoulder**

**Sprained kneecap, left**

**Severe damage to the face**

**Damage to the optic nerve in the left eye, irreparable- resulting in blindness**

Kim grew exceptionally worried as she read the list, but it was the last two items that gave her cause for alarm. Kim may not have liked to think of herself as vain, but then again, this was the girl who spreads moisturizer on her face each night before bed.

She moved into the adjacent bathroom. Fumbling around in the dark room, she was not overly surprised when her eyes adapted to the darkened conditions quickly and easily. She still was unable to see herself in the mirror, however. As she flicked on the light switch, a sight she had not been expecting greeted her eyes.

Her face was a mess. A line of scars stretched across her forehead and her chin. Each seemed so deep, and Kim knew that they shouldn't have healed to such an extent so quickly. A long, deep scar ran from her forehead to her chin, cutting across her left eye. She definitely wasn't blind, though; her eye looked the same as it always had, and after she closed her right eye, she realized that she could still see out of it. No, that was not what shocked her. What shocked her were her eyes themselves.

Though still their vivid emerald green, the pupils were nothing more than narrow slits, like those of a feline. Kim was stunned. Then, she blinked, and they were gone. No, not gone, looking close, she realized that although the area had darkened around the slits, they were still intact.

Kim was stunned beyond all words. _This day has past from "beyond weird" into "weird to the point of normalcy."_ That is as weird as it gets; things have gotten so strange that those items which seemed strange before might as well be nothing.

Kim checked her shoulders; each and every puncture wound was nothing more than a small, white blemish on her otherwise flawless skin. She pressed one and felt no pain, just fully formed flesh. It was then that she realized her broken rib was not listed on the chart. Lifting up the paper gown, she checked and found that she had no broken rib, although she did have a very large, purple bruise where Crew-cut had struck her.

Kim was at a loss; she didn't know what to think or do. She decided to think about it for a moment and then decided that she needed to call Wade. Surely, he, of all people, could give her some answers. It was at this point she heard voices.

She concentrated on their voices and learned that they belonged to two cops looking for her room. Kim was not overly surprised; she _was_ found nearly dead in the room of a shooting, after all. Chances were she was the only one left alive. As such, they would want to question her about what happened. She also realized that they could help her find Ron. Turning out the bathroom lights, she moved as fast as she could back to the bed, reattached her sensors and turned the heart monitor back on. She lay down in the bed as the two men approached her door. Before they even knocked, Kim said, "You can come in."

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Ron was stunned; what could he honestly say to that?

_I'm going to die…_

He didn't want to believe that. If he couldn't save himself, he knew that Kim would, right?

The certainty in Malia's voice as she spoke those words made Ron feel so cold, as if the icy hands of death were already upon him.

Malia gazed upon Ron; he seemed confused and scared… _and defiant,_ she realized. He wasn't simply going to lie back and accept his fate. He would fight until the end. For some reason she couldn't explain, she felt a pang of guilt at that. _Oh, well, all's fair in love and good dining…_

Ron was not scared; he was absolutely terrified! _I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die… okay, Ron. Calm down just a bit; you're not going to die. Well, okay, you probably are. But at least die trying to survive. 'Course, if you can avoid dying at all, that'd be great._

Ron looked at Malia; a look of consternation briefly flashed over her face. Ron assumed he had imagined it. "Yeah, about that, dying doesn't exactly suit me right now, but listen, if you come back in sixty or seventy years, I'm pretty sure I'll be ready." Ron said, trying not to let his voice crack, or his fear show. Despite that, he could feel the beads of sweat on his brow.

The woman smiled once again. Ron cringed as he gazed at her smile. _Look at her teeth…_

Malia spoke in an almost hushed tone. "You are brave, Ronald, but you are unfortunately mistaken. I'm afraid that you will die this night. The question is how you will go?"

She gazed upon him once again. "There are two ways that your death will come about. One is that you will defy your baser desires. You will not enjoy the meal, you will forego the wine, and you will die horny and in pain."

Malia rose from the chair and moved towards Ron. The scent of lilacs was about her, and she smiled at him suggestively. "The second way you can die…" She never finished that sentence. Instead, she reached for her shoulder straps and pulled them down, baring herself from the waist up.

_Don't stare, don't stare, don't stare…I'm staring._

Ron was still a guy and prone to distractions. He really didn't want to, but his inner beast wasn't breaking eye contact anytime soon.

Malia smiled and, taking Ron's hands in her own, placed them on her breasts. "What do you say?"

There was only one thing Ron could say. One thing he thought he would never have to say and, with luck, would hopefully never say again.

"Go fuck yourself."

"So be it…" Before Ron could blink, Malia bit into his neck and began chewing her way to his jugular…

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The two cops stepped into Kim's room. One was a shorter man, who was starting to bald and had a bit of a pot belly. His suit looked as though it had been made from motel room drapes. The only part of his ensemble that his tie matched was the mustard stain on the left lapel. He had a ring on his finger, with the initials E. B. engraved on it. It was then that Kim remembered all she had learned about the doctor. Armed with that knowledge, she took a quick sniff.

She learned a good deal about the cop. He'd recently eaten a hotdog, plain. There was also an odour of coffee on his breath. Like the doctor, he shaved daily. There were many other scents on him as well: ink, bad coffee, sweat, a hint of blood and grime, and all the little things you'd expect from working at a police station.

After he had stepped into the room, a man Kim could only assume was his partner followed him inside. At the sight of this man, Kim's eyes grew wide. _There is no way that's him,_ she thought. The man was a carbon copy of Mr. Barkin. The only real difference she could see in the two was this man's large, greying moustache. He certainly carried himself like Mr. Barkin; everything about him screamed business. His posture, his facial features, the way his suit looked on him despite its age, all of this screamed Barkin at her. _This is way too weird,_ she thought. She also realized that she had been saying that a lot today.

The tall cop spoke. "Miss Possible, I'm Detective Jacob Barkin, and this is my partner, Detective Edward Bakersfield. We're here to ask you a few questions, if that's alright?" _He even sounds like Mr. Barkin,_ Kim thought. She also noticed his words seemed to carry the same hidden meanings that Mr. Barkin's did. He didn't actually ask her a question; it was an order. She felt a bit smaller and somewhat meeker around him. _Definitely a Barkin,_ Kim thought, though she also knew that the last name was a pretty big hint.

"Yes, that's fine." Kim said, using the bed controls to lean herself forward. It was a fact of life: everyone, no matter how old or young, loves to use the bed controls.

Nodding curtly, the two men grabbed chairs and sat down across from her. Jacob drew a pad of paper and a pencil from his pockets, while Ed grabbed a tape recorder. "Before we begin, Miss Possible, I would like to point out that you are not under oath here. This is just a preliminary statement. You will, however, be required to make a statement at the police station once you are well." Ed said as he slid a blank tape into the recorder.

"I understand." Kim said, in her most official tone. She couldn't help but feel as though she was getting smaller the more Jacob Barkin looked at her. _Come on, break eye contact or blink or something, _she thought, trying very hard not to start fidgeting.

Ed set the recorder down on a table and hit 'record'. "Alright, let's begin. Miss Possible, please explain your involvement in the shooting last night at the culinary institute." He said once the tape had begun rolling.

For the next hour, Kim described the series of events. From Wade's call to her near death experience, she told them everything that was normal. She didn't tell them about her broken rib or arm or about the "Lycan" as she heard Big-Nose call that thing. She knew that if she started talking about great beasts that changed into men when they died, they'd lock her in a padded room, and she wouldn't be able to help Ron. She thought she did a reasonably good job of glossing over those points, but couldn't help but feel that Jacob knew she was hiding something. He had never broken eye contact and had written a few points down without even looking down at his pad. It was a touch unnerving, to say the least.

"Was there anything unusual about all that transpired that night?" Jacob asked after she had finished her little spiel.

_Oh, yeah, a lot of what happened was unusual,_ Kim thought, but didn't say. "I don't think there was too much strange about what happened."

"You mentioned the gun of the man you described as having a crew-cut." Ed said. "You said that he had taken the gun from his companion's left hand and ejected the still full clip, exchanging it for a fresh one. Could you elaborate on that?"

Shrugging, Kim said, "I really don't know what to say to that. All I know is what I've already told you; he changed the clips. I don't know why."

Jacob seemed to squint at Kim. "Then could you please explain why you chose to use that gun instead of the other man's gun despite its closer proximity towards you?"

Kim thought a little before answering this one. She knew why she had done it; the man changed bullets. Big-Nose's gun had no effect on the Lycan whatsoever; it only made sense that Crew-cut was changing his gun's ammo in order to take that thing down. Kim knew she couldn't say that and instead answered, "I don't really know. Chances are I just panicked and went for the first thing I saw."

Jacob didn't seem satisfied with that answer, but he didn't press the matter. Kim had learned one thing from his last question: he was a very perceptive man. She was going to have to be careful about what she said to him.

Ed looked over at Jacob. Once the latter nodded, he looked back at Kim. "I think we're done for now." He said, stopping the cassette and placing it in his coat pocket. They got up and moved to leave, but not before he turned back and looked at her with a piercing gaze. "We will be in contact." He said simply.

"Wait a minute," Kim said, leaning forward. The two cops stopped and looked back at her. "What about Ron?"

"Miss Possible, in the state of New York, a person has to be missing at least forty eight hours before the police can begin an investigation." Jacob explained. Before Kim could interject, he held up a hand to stop her. "I'm aware of what you've just told us, and in normal circumstances, that would be enough to begin a police investigation. Unfortunately, these are not normal circumstances."

Kim was confused. "Miss Possible, your fingerprints were found on a gun whose bullets match those that were pulled out of a dead man. Capish?"

Kim thought for only a second before she realized what Ed was saying. "You're accusing me of murder?"

Ed shook his head, "We're not accusing you. We are saying you are a suspect in an ongoing investigation. Sorry, but that's the way the world works. Good day, Miss Possible."

With that, the two officers left the room, leaving a very shocked Kim behind them.

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Ed and Jacob walked down the hall towards the elevator. Once they were out of the hallway, the two began talking.

"She's hiding something." Jacob began. "I know it. There's something she's not telling us about last night."

Ed nodded. His partner was gifted with witnesses. He had an air of authority that even the most hardened criminal respected, and a knack for recognizing when a suspect was lying or keeping something back. He had met his cousin Steve; it was a trait both men shared, though he did notice that Steve was the martinet of the two.

Jacob was feeling rather frustrated. The two men each had their strengths. Jacob knew his gift was witnesses, and Ed's, well, Ed had hunches. Much of what Ed did relied on hunches. The problem was his hunches weren't absolutes. Though, they were right often enough to give Ed full confidence in his hunches. They were also wrong often enough to make Jacob doubt his hunches. _When his hunches are right, we become the talk of the force; when his hunches are wrong, we find ourselves in front of the lieutenant._

This had been one of those times. Normally, ballistics and fingerprinting would have taken a couple of days. Then, Ed had a hunch. And so, he and Jacob found themselves spending a lot of favours to get a rush on the evidence. When all the evidence did was confirm that Kim was at the crime scene, a fact they already knew, the lieutenant had popped a vein. Ed was pretty sure he could be heard in the next precinct.

He could feel the tension building and finally said, "Look, I'm sorry. But I still think there's something here; I can feel it."

Jacob was still loath that Ed's hunch had dragged them in front of the lieutenant. He was frustrated that he hadn't learned more from Kim. Still, he knew she was hiding something. Jacob didn't believe in hunches or gut feelings. He believed in following procedure and letting the witnesses and the evidence tell the story.

"There's something she's hiding. She also has a penchant for disregarding authority." Jacob remembered all the stories his cousin had told about teaching her. "I'll get an officer on her; make sure she doesn't go anywhere."

Ed nodded; it was an idea they could both agree on. It would make Ed keep on his hunch, while Jacob would be following his procedures. Ed also knew that technically, despite his insistence that he didn't believe in instincts, Jacob certainly did. That was how he knew when a witness was lying or hiding something. Of course, Jacob said that wasn't it, and that his knowledge was something entirely different. The two men had argued about it a great deal, but neither was willing to start that argument again tonight. It was late enough, and they'd already used their overtime for the month.

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"Yeah, that's him alright."

In the cold morgue in the basement of the hospital stood two men: one was the coroner. A pale, odd man, he enjoyed his line of work way too much as far as the other hospital employees were concerned. The other was a man of about average height, badly in need of a shave and a shower. His long hair curled at his shoulders, and the denim jacket he wore was threadbare and old, providing no defence against the bitter cold of the morgue.

The doctor looked at him through coke-bottle lenses that magnified his eyes to almost comical proportions. "You are sure this is your cousin?"

"I'm sure." The man said in an impatient tone. He had smelled the cops on his way in and was reasonably certain that his statute of limitations hadn't worn out yet. "Even if I couldn't recognize him," he said, pointing to the uncovered body, "I would recognize his leather jacket anywhere." The old garment sat in a box nearby.

Nodding, the coroner covered the body with a sheet and slid it back into the cooler. Picking up a chart, he filled in the new information. "Will you be taking possession of his personal belongings?" The tall man nodded before saying, "I'll also be preparing a funeral for him." The doctor nodded; just another day in the morgue.

Finished filling in the file, the Doctor turned to him. "Okay, I think we're done for now. Here's my card; call me, and I'll release the body to the mortuary of your choice." Taking the card, the tall man picked up the box and left that creepy place behind him.

_I hate this place,_ he thought as he entered the elevator. It was always so creepy; that guy must sleep in the building. Also, there was the fact that showing up at the morgue meant that someone had died. In truth, he had barely known him. It wasn't his biological cousin, just another member of the clan. He was chosen to take care of this because he wouldn't be as easily recognized, while at the same time being able to identify the body. They always worked with 'cousin' because it was so much harder for the police to question cousins than siblings.

The elevator jerked to a stop, and the man stepped off into the lobby. A cop was just entering the hospital through the glass doors that opened onto the street. Stepping back into the shadows, he watched as the cop entered an elevator. Only when the digital readout changed did he continue on his way. He was part of the way through the lobby when a faint scent entered his nose. Stopping, he decided not to look suspicious and made his way to the coffee machine. As he ordered a cup of black coffee, he sniffed the air. Yes, there was a scent there…

The man had smelled it many times before, but was unable to place it. Another sniff told him it was coming from a female who had passed through this hallway a very long time ago. She was injured, or at least she was at the time, and was still somewhere in the hospital. The scent was so familiar; why couldn't he place it…

Like a bolt of lightning, he understood.

"Oh, Christ," he said, dropping his coffee to the floor. Taking his box in his hands, he ran for the stairs. Once inside, he leapt up at least three steps at a time, listened for the sound of the cop's elevator and quickly surpassed it. Stopping a goodly number of floors up, he opened a power box and ripped out some wiring. Once he heard the elevator grind to a halt, he was on the move again. He had to get to her and extricate her from the hospital to the clan fast.

The full moon would rise within an hour…

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_She's chewing into your neck!_

Ron's reaction was sheer instinct. His MMP flared up, and as quick as Malia had clamped down his throat, her jaws opened, and she was launched violently across the room. She struck a bedpost, breaking it, and became entangled in the canopy that fell on top of her.

Ron slapped a hand on his neck. Her bite had been ragged, but shallow; he'd survive. Tying a napkin around his neck to stanch the flow of blood, he turned and found Malia's fist in his face.

Having taken only the briefest moment to cover herself up, she was in a mood, to say the least. Ron was flung into the table, and as she leapt at him, he grabbed a platter behind him and smashed her airborne form in the head. As she fell to the ground, Ron lost no time running for the door, completely forgetting in his panic that it was locked.

Trying the knob to no avail, Ron turned and received a kick to the gut from Malia. Bent double, she kicked him in the face, cleanly breaking his nose. _She moves as fast as Crew-cut,_ Ron thought for only the briefest of moments before the pain overwhelmed him. Malia gripped Ron by the wrists and lifted him into a standing position. Ignoring the blood coming from his nose, she smashed her lips into his. Ron was certain she felt her tongue touch his uvula. "You should have chosen option B, Ronald. We would have had so much fun. Now the only one who's going to have fun… is me." With that, she ran her tongue through the blood on his face, clearly enjoying the taste. A good deal also smeared on her face; to Ron, she looked absolutely insane.

Getting an idea, Ron leaned his head back a little and then drove his forehead as hard as he could into her nose. In pain and in shock, she let go of Ron, and he leapt across the room. As he ran down the steps, she was suddenly in front of him; like Crew-cut before her, she dropped him to the ground with a powerful shot to the chest. _Okay, so, there are two people who can move like that._

She leaned down on top of him, clearly letting him feel each and every part of her anatomy. She opened her jaws to take his throat in her mouth when she felt his hand grab her by her throat. She gagged, not realizing that Ron was subconsciously using his MMP to strengthen his grip. She couldn't get free and so, did the only thing she could do. She twisted the gem on her finger.

Ron was confused as to why she did that until he heard the door open. Soon, several guns were pointed at his face. Crew-cut looked down at him. "Let her go." Ron released his grip, and she slid off of him.

She looked at Ron with a mix of hatred and respect. "Take him back to his cell and lock him up. We will see what becomes of him." Nodding curtly, the guards yanked Ron off the floor and none too gently forced him out the door.

Ron didn't notice much on the way back to his dimly lit cell. One thing, however, stood out clearly: the way people looked at him. Before, it had been a mix of amusement and hatred. Now, it was sheer awe. Ron was more than a little confused.

"Okay, why are they staring at me?" He asked, turning to Crew-cut on his left.

Crew-cut did something that Ron had never seen him do: he smiled. "You did something that's never been done before. You survived." Ron had no response to that.

The redhead from before was again in front of them. A look of disbelief was on her face. "He survived?" she asked. Crew-cut nodded, and she looked at Ron, reached over and lowered the napkin, revealing his wound. "He's going to be joining us. I might get my chance to try him after all." She said with a smile.

Crew-cut again looked as if he'd stepped in something nasty. "That's assuming he survives the virus."

"Oh, he will." the woman said, looking down at Ron's package.

Rolling his eyes, Crew-cut said, "Sis, worry about it later, alright?"

That done, he shoved his way past the girl who Ron now knew was Crew-cut's sister, and the group left the ballroom. Ron was stunned. _He called his own sister a slut. I mean, just because it's true doesn't mean you're supposed to talk about family like that._

Immediately, Ron noticed something different about their direction. They went down a corridor similar to the medieval-style one, and Crew-cut halted his men. Drawing some keys from his belt, he opened a door. "Alright, this is your room. Get in."

The guards were stunned. "Uh, sir, Malia said…"

"I know what she said," Crew-cut cut in. "This is what I'm doing." With that, Ron stepped inside the room.

Though not as nice as Malia's had been, the room was still quite comfortable. It looked like an Edwardian style room. Hardwood floors were partially covered with fine Persian carpets. From where he was standing, Ron could see a dining room, a kitchen beyond, and a large bathroom. One thing he noticed was that there were no windows; however, he was not given much time to contemplate that fact, as a sharp pain in the back of his head sent him off to unconsciousness again.

Nodding to one guard, the two picked Ron up and headed to the bedroom. Laying him on top of the bed, Crew-cut turned to the guards. "I want a man posted on him around the clock. Don't let him escape, or your fate will be far worse than mine."

The guards nodded and left the room. Crew-cut turned to Ron. Even though he knew Ron couldn't hear him, he said, "Sorry about the pop on the noggin'. I couldn't afford to let you escape." Crew-cut would never admit it, but this Ronald D. Stoppable, according to his driver's license, had actually managed to earn his respect.

For once, Crew-cut hoped his sister would get to try him. Such a thing would mean he survived the virus.

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Kim knew the man was there and that he was coming up to her room in a big hurry. By the time he arrived, she had once again unplugged the heart monitor and removed the pads from her person. She had to risk drawing the needles out; she couldn't afford to have them break if she got into a fight.

After she drew the needles out, she looked at the small openings that remained and watched in absolute amazement as they healed over almost instantly. She wasn't given much time to focus on the amazing, instantaneous feat her body had performed as the door to her room suddenly burst open.

Looking at her guest, she said "You know, its bad manners not to knock." The man looked as though he had lost a fight. He was dishevelled and dirty, and Kim would've been able to smell him even if her senses weren't in overdrive. Knowing that last bit, Kim took a sniff anyway and immediately knew there was something wrong with this man. His scent was mostly human, but it was also… off.

"I know that and I apologize, but I have to get you out of here." the man said. He recognized her as soon as he laid his eyes upon her. _To think that Kim Possible is now in our ranks,_ he thought as he gazed upon her. He listened in the background and heard the cop's elevator start moving again. Cursing his misfortune, he turned to Kim.

"Miss Possible, I'm afraid we don't have a lot of time, so I'll be brief. You've been bitten by a Lycan. Once the full moon rises, you'll become one as well. You have to come with me now." Kim had recognized the name Lycan, and she obviously was fully aware that it had bit her. _I've got the scars to prove it, _she thought. It was the full moon comment that made her start to think of…

She looked at the man with a look of disbelief and amusement, "Werewolves." When the man nodded, Kim smiled and tried not to laugh. "I don't mean to burst your bubble, but werewolves don't exist. Besides it wasn't even a full moon last night, so the thing that bit me wasn't a werewolf."

It took all the man's patience not to smack her right then. "Actually, they do exist, and actually, you _were_ bit by one. It takes a lot of practice, but eventually we can call the change on demand. Look, stop arguing with me, and let's go. Once that moon rises, I'm not gonna be able to help. You'll slaughter anyone you see. The first change is always like that."

"Who the hell are you?" a voice from the door said. Turning, he saw the cop standing in the doorway.

"Just a visitor," The stranger said.

"And he was just leaving." Kim said. The man looked ready to say something, but he didn't. Picking up his box, he went to walk out the door. Before he left, he turned to Kim. He spoke with a voice so quiet that even with her advanced hearing she could barely hear him. "I know Kim Possible doesn't kill, but that isn't gonna make any kind of difference in about…" he looked at his watch, "twenty minutes. See you on the outside, sister." And with that, he left the room.

Once he was gone, the cop turned to Kim and said, "Sorry, but I'm actually here to guard to you." Kim had suspected as much. She answered, "So not the drama. Could you just turn out the lights, so I can get some sleep?" Nodding his head, the cop did as asked and closed the door.

In truth, sleep was the last thing on Kim's mind. She had to do something about Ron. And yet, she also knew her options were limited. She had no clothes, no Kimmunicator, not even any change for a pay phone. The police obviously didn't trust her; they'd even placed a guard at her door.

Turning away from the door, she walked to the window. Opening the drape, she opened the window to let in some cool night air.

It was at this point that moon rose full and in all its grandeur over Central Park.

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The man walked to his car and opened the door. He threw the box in the passenger seat and started the engine. He then opened the glove compartment and drew out a vial serum in a needle, which he injected into himself.

Absentmindedly, he began to fiddle with the pendant around his neck.

"I pray she decides to search them out before too many people die," he said as his sharp hearing picked up the first growls.

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Alone in her dark room, Kim watched the full moon rise. It seemed so much larger and more beautiful than she ever remembered it having been before.

_Except one night…_

That was it; she had to find Ron, NOW. She turned away from the window, intent on pushing her way through anyone that tried to stop her from finding Ron, but her body had suddenly stopped responding to her commands. Without a word of warning, she was suddenly racked with pain. She fell to the floor, silent screams escaping her throat. It felt as though her bones were snapping and stretching against her very skin.

The tips of her fingers burned, and she watched as the nails grew thick, black, and long. She felt the skin of her jaw stretch as her mouth elongated into what an outside viewer would have termed a canine muzzle. Her spine cracked, joints popped, and an itching sensation of sudden and rapid hair growth crawled across her entire body.

The pain was indescribable. Her mouth had opened again to scream, but instead, she issued a loud growl. With that, her human mind faded away, replaced by the most basic of instincts…

_Feed…_

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Doctor Bakersfield was in a bad mood. As always, his bossy cousin had pushed him around. That was insulting enough. He was better looking, richer, and more educated than his cousin.

_And yet, he gets all the respect while all I get are complaints._

He wasn't respected by any of the doctors. He knew he was better than any of them; they were just jealous. That was why they wouldn't let him into a surgery.

Perhaps most insulting of all, they wouldn't let him work on the "Possible" assignment. That freak of nature could possibly be the greatest thing to happen to human medical science since antibiotics, and they had refused his expertise.

To top his day off, Francine had found out about Tina and dumped him. He just hoped that she hadn't told Tina.

_Even if she did, I suppose there's always Angelica._

Shaking himself out of his "hobby" frame of mind, he thought about the "Possible" case. The man who cracked her code would become the most famous, highest paid doctor in the country, if not in the world.

That settled it; he was going to talk with Kim, now, perform a few tests and form some analyses before any specialists laid claim to her.

Getting up from his desk, he walked down the halls. It was empty this time of night, but not completely. He briskly made his way to Kim's room. At his approach, the officer stood up.

"I'm sorry, sir, no one is to enter this room unless I'm given the go ahead." the cop explained.

The doctor tried to hide his disgust. "I will have you know that I'm Kim's doctor in this affair, as well as cousin to Detective Bakersfield. I will speak with her."

The cop was caught off guard and in a moral dilemma. He had his orders, but this man was a doctor employed at this hospital, and related to Detective Bakersfield, nonetheless. He struggled with his thoughts for a few moments before he conceded. "Alright, you can go in, but just for a moment."

Nodding his head, the doctor reached for the door handle and went in.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the open window. In that pale light, the doctor saw a shape curled up in the corner.

"Miss Possible?"

The shape turned towards him. Even in shadow, he could tell the figure was not human. The doctor stood frozen in place as luminous, green eyes bored through him.

The shape rose to its full height, towering above the doctor, casting the man fully into darkness illuminated only by those two glowing eyes.

Teeth bared, a low growl escaped its throat…


	4. Darkest after Dawn

At long last, ladies and gentlemen, here it is. The much-belated fourth instalment of _Kim Possible: Underworld._ For my loyal readers, I apologize for the delay, but alas, for me, it is business before pleasure.

First things first, I'd like to congratulate my new beta reader, daywalkr82. With his help, I am positive this story will meet the demands of even the most belligerent reader.

Also, for those who are reading this chapter, I shall warn you that some adjustments have been made to the first three chapters, care of daywalkr82. In the end, the plot is the same, as are all major events, so it isn't necessary to go back and read them if you don't want to.

And finally, for those who have read chapter 3, you know I forgot to leave a disclaimer (Gasp!). Does this mean… could it be true… I own Kim Possible? Nope, I don't own anything save for a truck and some cheezies. Although, those cheezies are looking mighty tasty…

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"_Oh, my God!"_

"_What the hell…"_

"_Shi...!"_

"_Shoot it, for Christ's sake!"_

"_No, no… Ahh!"_

"_Tony!"_

"_Gary, no!"_

"_Shoot, damn it, shoot!"_

"_Look out!"_

"_Ahhh!"_

"_Please, God, no!"_

"_What the fu…!"_

"_Mary, mother of God!"_

"_Kill it, for fuck's sake!"_

"_Mommy!"_

"_Kill it!"_

"_Fuck it! Run! Run!"_

"_Cowards… shit!"_

"_It got Thomas!"_

"_Screw him! Run!"_

"_Shit! It's behind us!"_

"_God!"_

"_Ahhh!"_

"_I'm out of bullets!"_

"_What the hell are you?!"_

_Silence._

"_Please, don't see me. Please, don't see me. Please, don't see me._

_God, save me."_

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Kim woke up feeling very sore. She stretched out and listened as her spine cracked.

_I had the most horrible nightmares last night... I think._ Kim wasn't sure if this could be called a nightmare. It was certainly a hellish experience for the other figures in her dream, and she had done horrible things, but she remembered the dream with pleasure.

_And horror._

Kim turned over and was confronted by a wall. Looking up in a start, she quickly surveyed her surroundings. She was in what looked to be an abandoned warehouse. Old, unused bits of machinery lay around the floor, and the high ceiling above had deep rust spots. The windows were cloudy or broken, and the staircase to the office above had broken away from the wall.

_Where am I?_

Footsteps echoed from one side of the vast expanse. Kim turned and saw the man she had met in the hospital. His smell hadn't improved since the last time she saw him; in fact, his coat looked even filthier. He had a large object rolled up under one arm, but Kim couldn't tell what it was.

Kim stood up and started walking towards him. "Okay, who are you, and where the hell am I?"

"One, my name is Abraham, and two… you're home."

_Home?_ Kim was confused beyond words. She was starting to respond to what he said when she became aware of a slight draft. Looking down, Kim realized she was completely naked.

Abraham was caught off-guard. He thought she would slap him for catching her like this. He wasn't expecting to be dropkicked in the face.

As Abraham fell to the ground, clutching his broken nose, Kim tried to find something to cover herself with. She tried to use her hands to cover herself, and noticed they felt strange. She looked down at her hands again, and saw a sight that made her blood run cold.

Her hands were coated in blood.

She turned her hands over and over again under her eyes, not believing what she was seeing. She looked herself over and saw more and more blood on herself everywhere. Spotting a piece of glass to use as a mirror, she ran over to it. Her hands, her feet, her chest, stomach, and worst of all, her mouth and the surrounding area were coated in someone's blood. She once more locked on her eyes, and saw the same bestial slits they had become back in the hospital. She started to whisper to herself.

"No. No, no, no. Those were dreams… they couldn't be real."

She tried to wipe the blood off herself, but to no avail. What hadn't dried was as thick as glue, and not going anywhere. The more she fought with the mess upon her skin, the more she became disgusted by what she saw. A sense of horror rose within her as she felt an ever-growing desire to lick off what had caked on her fingers. Tears were streaming down Kim's face, slow at first, but faster and faster as the deep sense of horror rose through her body.

"They… they were dreams… no, no, no, nonono… please, God, no."

Abraham stood up, popped his nose back into place, and checking to be sure his jaw was aligned, turned as a set of footsteps echoed behind him. A man walked towards him. Halting a respectable distance away, the man said, "Okay, according to the news, she killed thirty-two people before we got her out of there."

Abraham could have smacked the idiot as he heard Kim go silent behind him. He spoke in a voice that was menacing, even so quiet, "Get out of here."

The man, knowing not to mess with Abraham, turned and ran out the door.

Abraham turned to Kim, who had now sunk down to the floor, starting to talk to herself once again.

"They weren't dreams… they were real… they were real…" Kim rolled up into as much of a ball as she could as she broke out bawling. She didn't even notice Abraham drape the trenchcoat he had brought for her around her shoulders.

_They weren't dreams. They were real. I killed and ate thirty two people, and I liked it._

Kim could barely think straight, she was crying so hard. She only now noticed that she had been licking the blood off her hands this entire time, and still felt the pleasant taste in her mouth. The tears flowed even faster, and turning her head towards the ceiling, she let out a massive scream before she became completely incoherent.

"God!"

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"Uhhh, I feel crummy in the tummy."

Ron woke up slowly, his head absolutely throbbing. He reached a hand towards his fiery skull, and winced as he ran his fingers across a newly formed bump that accented his previous one nicely.

His head hurt a lot more now than it did for the previous bump, though. This time, his body was much better. He was quite warm and comfortable.

_What the heck is going on?_

Ron's mind slowly reorganized the events that had occurred. From the slaughter at the culinary institute to the bite from the creepy woman, and finally the sudden pain and blackness upon seeing the room, he remembered all that had happened.

No one had ever accused Ron of having a quick mind. Indeed, he was not the swiftest horse in the race. Had Bonnie been responsible for naming him, he probably would have received a name along the lines of "Brittle-shins" or "Plow-worthy." However, Ron realized that Crew-cut had struck him in the head with a pistol butt yet again.

_I really got to take that pistol away from him._

Ron opened his eyes, and immediately shut them again. Not because it was too bright, as the only light came from the small fireplace at the foot of the bed, but because the world began to spin as soon as his eyes fluttered open.

_This really isn't helping the crummy tummy._

He opened his eyes slowly, often closing them, waiting for the world to stop spinning. After a short time, his eyes adjusted enough for him to look around.

The bed he was lying on was rather large and comfortable. The deep green blankets were soft and warm, and the pillows his head rested on were as delicate as air. The headboard was made of brass, as were the two posts at the end of the bed. Maybe it wasn't the most stylish bed he had ever slept in, but it was a vast improvement to the concrete from before.

He looked around the rest of the room. A pair of deer antlers hung over his bed (_Okay, Martha Stewart, this person ain't_), and the two side walls were decked out with three paintings a piece. A small lamp sat on a nightstand next to his bed. Reaching out, he clicked it once.

Wincing from the bright light, Ron could see the hardwood floors, the bearskin rug, and a very large chesterfield.

Moving slowly, he rose from the bed and walked from the room.

Across from the bedroom was the bathroom. Entering it, he nearly gasped as he gazed upon this porcelain monstrosity. The tub was a massive, overdone, claw-legged one. The sink had a granite countertop, which although obviously costly, was a horrible pink colour. All the fixtures were made of gold, but as with everything else, it was appallingly overdone. Clearly, this room was meant to be opulent, but it was such an eyesore as to override the impression of wealth.

_Man, Kim would kill the designer of this bathroom._

A sharp pang of worry shot through Ron as he thought of Kim. He had to get out of here, but first, he had to do something about his headache. Looking in the medicine cabinet, he found a bottle of aspirin. He knew he probably shouldn't take a pill from his captors' cupboards, but his head was screaming at him. Popping the pill in his mouth, he took a swig of water from the faucet and swallowed. He felt a little better afterwards. Splashing a bit of water on his face, he became acutely aware of growing hunger pangs.

_Well, I suppose a small bite to eat couldn't hurt._

Stepping from the bathroom, Ron walked down to the kitchen. Unlike the appalling bathroom, the kitchen was rather tastefully done in copper and white tile. Making his way to the fridge, he withdrew a package of turkey and a few fresh vegetables. Grabbing some spices from the rack by the stove, he drew a frying pan from a cupboard and began to prepare a simple fare.

_Well, for me, it's simple._ Ron remembered when he attempted to teach Kim the recipe. He left the kitchen to place a quick call to Felix. He laughed as he remembered dropping the phone and running to the kitchen as the smoke alarm went off.

_I still can't figure out how she caught the rosemary on fire, and yet the turkey was undercooked._

Ron's meal was done in short order, and he sat down to eat it. As soon as he ate a bite, he felt somewhat off. Frowning in confusion, he looked down at the food. It smelled fine, and the taste was good, but it didn't feel right in his stomach. Physically, it was definitely there, but his hunger pangs were only growing sharper and more punctuated.

_Okay, this is a little strange._

Ron wasn't given much time to contemplate this, as a knock sounded from the door. The sound was sharp and painful.

"I'm coming," he said, eager for the noise to stop. Ron had never suffered from migraines himself, but his mother did. As he walked to the door, he wondered if he was now developing them.

Ron opened the door, and saw an all too familiar visage -- Crew-cut.

"Hello, Ronald," he said in his clipped English accent. "My name is Malcolm."

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Kim sat crying on the floor. She didn't know or care how much time had passed. She kept running through the same thoughts in her mind. A sense of guilt unlike anything she had ever felt before shrieked from within her.

So deep was she in this almost trance like state, she barely registered two firm hands on each shoulder, picking her off the floor, and onto her feet. She was being led somewhere, but didn't really care too much.

_I killed._

_I killed and I liked it._

_Why?_

Kim was aware that she had travelled up a length of stairs, and gazing up from the floor, saw that she had entered a large, open space. The office of the warehouse was expansive. Three old couches sat around a small television set. The men and women glanced up at Kim and her guide before turning their attention back to the TV.

A coffee machine sat on the desk, but the layer of dust on it suggested that it hadn't been used for years. A large pool table sat in the center of the room. The two women playing looked at Kim longer than she felt comfortable with before turning back to their game. A surprisingly new looking jukebox next to the door belted out "Iron Man".

Kim was led towards the couches. Two of the men moved so as to make room for her. When she had sat down on the old cushions, she was aware of her guide moving her arms into the sleeves of the trench coat and doing up the buttons. She finally gazed into the face of her guide. To her surprise, it wasn't Abraham, but a woman. Her platinum blonde hair was done quite short in the back, but with long bangs. Her eyes were a deep, deep brown, almost to the point of being black. There was no malice in them, only a caring soul. Looking back into Kim's eyes, the women smiled.

"Just relax, Kim. Nobody here is going to hurt you. I'll be back later, okay?"

Kim nodded her assent, and the woman stood and left the room. She looked at the TV, and saw that they were watching Red Green. She had never watched the show herself, but her mother sometimes did.

One of the women on the other couch reached over and smacked the man holding the remote. Looking at her, she gestured to the mini-fridge just underneath the table. Taking the hint, the man grabbed a water bottle from inside and offered it to Kim. She took the bottle from his hand, and slowed for a moment.

_My hands are clean._

In the strange quiet one has after the dam breaks, Kim thought little of it, and took a draught from the water bottle.

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Ron stood in mute shock of the man before him. Malcolm, as he had called himself, was standing in his doorway, as calmly as if he had been a new neighbour introducing himself.

"Well, are you going to invite me in, or am I to stand here all night? Or day, I'm not sure which," Malcolm said, a subtle undertone to his words. It wouldn't really matter whether or not Ron said yes or no, he was coming in. Opening the door wide, he let Malcolm step into the den.

The two sat at opposite sides of the room, Ron in a large arm chair that made him seem much smaller than he really was, and Malcolm sat on the small bench opposite the chair.

Ron reached a hand to his throbbing head, and prayed for the headache to go away. It was a strange headache, harsh as nails one minute and almost non-existent the next. The stomach pains, though, were only growing sharper, more painful, and lasting longer with every one.

_I really am not feeling well._

Malcolm looked at the man before him. He was pale, sweaty, and shivering as if he was suffering a painful fever. _Probably is,_ he thought. His own change had been a harsh experience, and there was little doubt in his mind that Ron was suffering the same kind of pain.

"Did you find the aspirin in your medicine cabinet, Ronald?" Malcolm asked.

Ron gaped at the Englishman. "You're the one who put the aspirin in there?"

"Yes," said the enforcer mildly. "My change was rather painful, and I figured you would suffer a similar experience." Malcolm watched Ron's face, waiting for the moment of recognition. After a lengthy silence, Malcolm all but shook his head in disbelief.

_There is no way on God's green earth that he is really that slow._

The answer, of course, is no; Ron isn't that slow. At least, under normal circumstances, when his mind is not riddled with acute pains. However, Malcolm's words soon dawned on him, and he felt confused.

"What do you mean 'change'?"

Malcolm had to force himself not to let out a heavy sigh. Instead, he said, "Ronald, you are changing, whether or not you are aware of it. Judging by your face, though, I think you are more than slightly aware of it."

The pain in his stomach hit a new high, and Ron winced. Looking at Malcolm, he responded with "I suppose you could say that."

Malcolm smiled at Ron's dry bit of humour before continuing. "Don't worry, the pain is intense, but it will subside with time."

"What kind of change are we talking about, anyway?"

Malcolm knew what his intent was before he came here, but that still didn't make it any easier. He had already thought out each and everyone of Ron's reactions before he arrived. _First, disbelief, then fear, then anger, and only then acceptance._ It was going to be a painful road, but one that had to be walked. At least Ron was going to get a guide to help him out, which was more than Malcolm had.

Malcolm cleared his throat and began, "Ronald, I am not what I seem. Neither is Malia, and neither is Catherine -- my sister. We are… I don't want to say unique, as that certainly is not the case. Rare would be a far better term. We are different from normal humans. We are faster, stronger, and capable of incredible regeneration. So long as we feed, we are immortal. There are disadvantages, though. We cannot enter the sun, or we will die. And the price we pay nightly is high as well, for we must feed regularly to sustain our existence."

Malcolm leaned forward and looked at Ron closely. "What does that sound like to you, Ronald?"

Ron knew what it sounded like, but he didn't believe it. "I kind of have a guess, but it's crazy."

"Try me."

Ron took a deep breath before uttering a single word: "Vampires."

Malcolm did the one thing Ron hadn't wanted him to do. He nodded solemnly and leaned back in his seat. Ron's skin, hot and sticky to this point, grew cold and clammy as he processed this information.

_I'm in a mansion filled with Vampires._

_One human in a mansion filled with Vampires._

_Wait a second…_

Malcolm saw Ron's jaw drop as he looked into his face. He had figured it out, and his reaction was expected. Malcolm let out a deep sigh. He never thought he would have to be the one to break in a former-human initiate. He had spent a large portion of his life as a trainer, but they had been those sent to him to learn combat technique. Only once had he ever been privy to an 'awakening', as Malia liked to put it, and he still remembered when the girl took her own life.

_I swore then never to be part of another proceeding again, much less be more than a mere spectator._

_Then why am I here?_

Malcolm knew why he was here. Ron had done something that had never been done in the history of the coven. He, a mere human, had defeated a centuries-old Vampire. Had you even last week asked Malcolm if that was possible, he would have laughed in your face. It had happened, however, and Malcolm would be damned if he let such a prodigy slip through his fingers.

Ron, at last, spoke, "Malia is a Vampire."

"Yes."

"She bit me."

"Yes."

Ron gulped, a lump in his throat. He spoke in nearly a whisper, "I'm becoming a Vampire."

Although Ron said it as a statement, Malcolm confirmed it. "Yes, Ronald, you are becoming a Vampire. Both greater and lesser than a normal human; both an outcast and a ruler of men. Don't worry; I'm going to help you through this."

Ron opened his mouth to respond, and his body was wracked with pain. He fell to the floor, grabbing his stomach, his mouth open in a silent scream. Malcolm was up like a shot, and by Ron's side just as quickly.

"Ronald, what's wrong?"

"It feels like my stomach is about to explode," he said through sharp, pained breaths. He had not known this kind of pain was possible.

Malcolm thought quickly, and coming to a conclusion, he asked "Ronald, have you eaten anything since you awoke?"

"A… small bite of… ahhh! Turkey!" he said, overcome with pain.

Letting out a long and violent string of curses, Malcolm lifted Ron off the ground as if he wasn't there. Dashing down the long corridor with Ron over one shoulder, he moved with the unnatural speed Ron had grown accustomed to seeing. As he moved down an unfamiliar corridor, Ron heard music approaching.

_Who's playing the riff from 'Smoke on the Water'?_ He thought between pain spasms.

He saw, from his not very gentle perch, the two of them enter a small infirmary. He saw Malcolm's sister, Catherine, if he remembered correctly, guitar in hand, letting out the classic riff. There was also a large man there. Standing taller than the brutish thugs he had seen Malcolm with earlier, his head was clean shaven. A thick bulldog moustache adorned his face, and a striking cobra tattoo was on his neck. When the two of them saw Malcolm and his charge enter the room, they dropped what they were doing.

Ron felt a touch of vertigo as he was flipped over Malcolm's shoulder onto a hospital bed. Any pain and disorientation that should have caused was overridden by another excruciating pain from his stomach.

"What's wrong with him?" the big man yelled with a heavy German accent.

"He got hungry and cooked himself something," Malcolm replied, the minor sarcasm in his voice overridden by fear.

Letting out what were most likely German swears (or oaths), the large man immediately set to work. Drawing a needle, he injected Ron with it before Ron could protest. Almost immediately, the blonde felt his consciousness slipping. Just before he blacked out, he heard the German speak to him.

"Sorry, but you really don't want to be awake for this…"

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Jacob took a sip of his coffee, and grimaced as the tar-like substitute touched his tongue. Sitting at the desk across from his, Ed was working on his old Rubik's Cube. He only did that when he needed to either think or forget.

The last time Jacob had seen Ed devote such attention to the cube was when his wife died.

About seven years ago, Ed was chaperoning his son's high-school graduation party. After the party, Ed was driving. His wife, Julie, was in the passenger seat, and their two sons were in the back. The next day was his wife's birthday, and Ed had planned the whole event to the tee. He and Jacob had worked it out so that he would have the whole day off; his sons were going down to Florida with some friends. Jacob was keeping the lobster in his fridge, so Julie wouldn't get suspicious, and Ed's gift to her was in the trunk.

It was all ended by a drunk driver running a red.

Ed and his sons survived with very minor injuries. Julie, his wife of nearly twenty years, was dead on impact.

It had been a hard time for everyone, but Ed had taken it worse than everyone. He was off the force for almost two months, and spent more than a year in counselling. To the best of Jacob's knowledge, he still spoke regularly with the Imam about the event.

Well, if Ed was trying to forget any event, this recent one would do it. The very hospital where only a day before they had been interrogating a suspect had been gutted. Thirty-two people had died within. There was no security footage, the wiring having been ripped out of a power box. Each victim had died the same way: by the teeth or claws of some great beast. More than fifty bullets had been recovered, many stained with blood, but not one had managed to slow the creature down. Taking another sip of his coffee, if it could be called such, Jacob pulled another piece of nicotine gum out of the pack and popped it in his mouth.

Ed put down the Rubik's cube, and laid his head in his hands. He looked up at Jacob, seeming years older than he was.

"Well, today really sucked."

Jacob let out a snort at that understatement. Little else was said between the two; what was there to say?

A single pair of footsteps brought the two out of their reverie. They looked up as their lieutenant approached. Short one eye due to an enemy round in the First Gulf War, he looked down on the two with sympathy.

"Look, you two just head home, alright? I'll find someone to work overtime for you," he said, his usual military bark replaced with something softer.

Without another word, the lieutenant left. After a few quiet minutes, Ed and Jacob rose from their chairs and walked out the building.

Hopefully, everything would look better in the morning.

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"How is he?" Malcolm asked in his flat English voice.

"Stable," the large German doctor answered, his thick accent clearly noted with each syllable. "I got a blood pack going in him, so he'll be fine for now."

The two turned towards Ron, who was lying on the hospital bed. The stomach pump sat nearby. Catherine had left and forgot her guitar. Ron himself looked worse for wear. He was pale, sweaty, and breathing shallowly.

"Do you think he'll make it, Gustav?" he asked, concern breaking through the normally emotionless wall he put forward.

Shrugging, Gustav said, "It's difficult to say. He's stable now, but his vitals occasionally jump. I can't explain it. Every awakening I've heard of said that the former human would survive if they lasted past the first hour. This is something completely different; as if, there was something within him fighting against the virus."

"How bad is it?"

"Very. The more his body fights against the virus, the more damage it will do to him. I'm afraid his fate is no longer in our hands."

Malcolm nodded gravely. Picking up Catherine's guitar, he said, "Keep me informed."


	5. Enough Crying

After an appalling wait and one hell of a long first semester, I've finally managed to get back on the internet, and now it's time to continue where I left off.

I'd like to give my thanks to those who have read my story, both those that have spoken up, and those that have remained quiet.

And, of course, my thanks to my beta reader daywalkr82, for having prices an impoverished university student can afford (by the way, I'm going to be a bit late on this months payments…).

And now, for everyone's favourite legal item, the disclaimer- I do not, nor will I ever, own Kim Possible. I am doomed to die without massive royalties, what can I say?

* * *

It was dark in that hospital room. The lights down so low, one could barely see the two occupants within. One, Malcolm, sat at the desk nearby, quietly cleaning his gun. The other, Ron Stoppable, was lying on the hospital bed, and he looked like hell.

Even amongst the members of a species who could never even feel the sun, he was grotesquely pale with a feverish yellow tinge. His skin was coated in clammy, slimy-looking sweat. His muscles twitched in a constant shiver, and his temperature was high.

Malcolm tried not to think of Ron's appalling condition, and kept his focus on his gun. The sight was off again. _That's the bloody problem with these modern guns,_ he thought to himself. _They don't have any durability. Now, that .45 I had in the forties, you could have run it over, and it still would have fired…_

"Malcolm," a disembodied voice said from behind the vampiric enforcer. Turning around, he saw the hollow eyes of Ron looking into his own. His breath seemed to hiss, and his voice was soft and cracked. He looked up into the grey eyes of Malcolm. "What's wrong with me?" he rasped.

"We don't know," Malcolm answered, sadness breaking through his normally sarcastic façade. "This has never happened before, Ronald. Under normal circumstances, a person who does not pass away within the first hour will survive. According to Dr. Schwitzwalker, there's something inside of you that's fighting against the virus. The problem is that the harder your body fights, the more damage the virus will do. You're in God's hands now."

No emotion betrayed Ron's face. In the deep recesses of his mind, though, a fight was taking place within his psyche…

* * *

"_So, this is how it ends, eh?"_

"_It doesn't have to end here, Ron…"_

_Two figures in his psyche met. One was clearly Ron as he viewed himself, dressed in his traditional red jersey and baggy cargos; he stood taller in his mind than in reality. He was also more muscled and had a well defined jaw. The second figure was also Ron, but far different. His skin was much paler, and his eyes had an unearthly glow about them, as if he were possessed by a malevolent spirit. When his mouth opened, Ron could clearly see twin fangs protruding from his upper jaw. He seemed almost… darker was the only word Ron could think to describe this fearsome looking shade._

"_Who are you?" Muscular Ron asked the shady figure._

"_That is a somewhat naïve question. I'm you," the shady Ron answered, Ron's traditional goofy grin plastered across his face._

"_But, you're… you're…"_

"_A vampire? Yes, I suppose I am," Vampire Ron answered his muscular counterpart. "I am you, as you believe you would be, if you let the virus run its course."_

_Muscular Ron was somewhat confused. "Wait… if I let the virus run its course?"_

"_Yes, Ron," Vampire Ron answered, his goofy countenance replaced by a more serious face. "I'm going to ask this of you, Ron, and since you're me, you should know the answer. What is one thing you have that almost no one else in this world has?"_

"_The ability to eat twenty nacos and not throw up," Muscular Ron answered, a smug smile on his face._

"_Yes, but we all remember how number twenty-one went," Vampire Ron answered. "In all seriousness though…"_

"_Uh… Kim can do that thing with her back…"_

"_How is that the one thing you have in this world that almost no one else has?" Vampire Ron asked, the look on his face one of incredulity. _

"_Well, she is only doing it for me…" _

_Letting out a huge sigh, Vampire Ron said, "Ron, I am you, remember? You're just avoiding the question, and you know it. What is the one thing you have that almost no one else has?"_

_Muscular Ron dropped his eyes to the floor. "Mystical Monkey Power."_

_Vampire Ron nodded, and continued, "And you know as well as I do that it obeys you. Even a subconscious order has impact…"_

_Muscular Ron looked up into the face of his Vampiric counterpart. "I don't want to become a monster."_

"_And so it fights the virus__ as it has been ordered to do. The problem is that it's not enough. The virus breeds faster than it can be killed off. And just like any other organism, the virus is merely defending itself. By following your subconscious orders, the MMP is killing you."_

"_How do we know that MMP isn't the only reason I've survived this long?"_

_Vampire Ron looked his counterpart in the eye. "You know as well as I do that you didn't have any problems until you learned you were becoming a vampire. It was only after that your health took a nose dive. You only started to die after your body decided to fight an infection that had already won."_

"_How can I live like this?"_

"_Easy. In the morning, or night, rather, you get up and you live your life. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. This is just the way things are. One can't just decide to lie down and die merely because they don't like how things are working out."_

"_This is just a little bit more than stubbing your toe getting out of bed," Muscular Ron said. _

"_True, but it's a good comparison." Vampire Ron reached out a hand and put it on Muscular Ron's shoulders. "Think about Kim for a minute, Ron."_

"_How could she love me like… like… you," Muscular Ron asked with the sense of hopelessness apparent in his voice. He turned his back on his Vampiric self._

"_You think she could love us anymore dead?" Vampire Ron walked around so that he and his counterpart were face-to-face again. "You know as well as I do that if we die here today, they'll just chuck our body out with the rest of the trash. She'll never know what happened to you. That would kill her, and you know it."_

"_She can't love me like this."_

_Vampire Ron reached out and smacked his counterpart across the face. Muscular Ron, shocked beyond all words, could only look up from the floor, rubbing his sore cheek. _

"_God__damn it, stop feeling sorry for yourself. The last time we got like this, we nearly lost her to a walking tub of syntho-shit. The fact remains: you have to live. You have to tell her what you've become. Maybe she'll love us as much as we love her; maybe she'll say, 'I don't care what you are; you're still my Ron'. Hell, you've proclaimed almost as much as she has how much she loves you. Did you think she was lying? And of course, there's the other chance: that she'll call you beast, monster, and a long list of other nasty names, and say she never wants to see you again. We'll be heartbroken, but life goes on."_

"_How can you be so callous about losing her?" Muscular Ron said as tears threatened to fall._

"_Look, I've said it before__ and I'll say it again: I am you, Ron. We're one and the same. It will destroy me if we lose her, but the other option is far worse. At the very least, live and tell her the truth. Let her at least have the satisfaction of knowing that you didn't just disappear. Let her know you love her, and that you'll always be there for her, if she still wants you."_

"_But I'll be immortal."_

"_And…" Vampiric Ron already knew what his counterpart was going to say, but knew he had to say it._

"_What if she wants me to… to...?"_

"_Bite her," Vampire Ron said, pulling his Muscular half off the ground. "We'll just have to deal with that little issue when it comes up. Right now, we've got to live, and then we've got to find her."_

_As Ron's mind finally rested, he passed into a deep sleep…_

* * *

Malcolm had his back to Ron, his attention once more upon his gun. So intent was he on the firearm, he didn't notice a quick blue flash from the patient.

* * *

Edward Bakersfield was leaving his kitchen, a chicken-pot-pie in hand. He sat down on his old recliner and flipped on the baseball game. The Mets were up 3 to 1 versus the Braves in the bottom of the fifth. Taking a sip of his beer, he kicked the foot stool up, leaned back, and looked up at the ceiling, sighing he did so.

Yesterday had been a horrible day. _I never want to have another day like that_, the cop thought as he began to cut in his stove-top dinner.

The den in his house was small yet comfortable. A large couch with a plaid pattern stood against the wall, opposite an old piano. Ed himself didn't play; it was Julie's. His recliner sat at the end of the couch, opposite his television and the door to his place. A round table stood in the center of the room, and just in the corner between the couch and the recliner was an end table with a lamp. The light from the lamp revealed a number of pictures on the walls. One very old one showed Edward, four years old, in his peewee baseball uniform, sitting on his Dad's massive shoulders. Another photo showed Ed and Jacob on the day they graduated from the academy. It wasn't his favourite, as he was blitzed out of his mind when the photo was taken. There were two pictures, though, that dominated the wall more than any other. One was the photo of his son's graduation. The twin boys, with their nearly white blond hair, stood between Ed and his wife. This was the last photo he would ever have with her. This very photo had been taken on the day she died.

The other photo was of their wedding day. He had rounded out and lost some hair since then, but Julie hadn't changed much. Her startlingly blue eyes had never lost their almost magical glow; her smile was a brilliant plethora of white, probably brought on by the fact that she didn't drink coffee. The curly locks in her hair had never lost their spring. She used to tell him that she'd gone to hell, such and such a part of her was drooping, or she had more wrinkles then she used to. Ed never could tell…

Ed became aware of the lone tear that was making its way down his cheek. Grabbing a Kleenex from the box next to him, he wiped it off. He just couldn't understand it. _Every time I have a hard day at work, this happens._ One small photo, one he wasn't very proud of, stood in the corner. It was a picture of Julie and her sister, Samantha. After his wife had passed on, she had stayed around with him. She had comforted him when he was feeling down.

She had stopped him from taking his own life.

The two had become rather close in these past seven years. Very close. Ed had denied it as many times as he could. He pushed it to a corner of his mind. He tried to reason out of it, but nothing worked. Sometime in the past year, it had happened.

He'd fallen in love with Samantha, and he felt horrible for it.

Part of Ed knew it was only natural. He'd spent most of the past seven years either with her or talking with her. It only made sense that something would develop. But at the same time, it was his wife's sister. She had passed on, but he still couldn't help feeling that he was somehow betraying her if he started seeing someone else. The fact that it was her sister made it that much worse.

He'd been too afraid to mention this to the Imam during their sessions together. It would hurt him if he said nothing could happen between them. _It'd be even worse if he said something could…_

Ed didn't have anymore time to contemplate his situation as the beeper on his belt went off.

* * *

Several blocks down, in an apartment on the fourth floor, Jacob snored peacefully. An insomniac by nature, Jacob often found it hard to get a good night's rest. Add in the fact that homicide had odd hours, and the end result was that Jacob was one very tired cop. Having laid down for an afternoon nap, when he fell into a deep sleep, his wife, Taka, decided to let him sleep. His dinner could always be reheated.

She walked into the room. A daughter of Japanese immigrants, she was a small woman. Even in the dark, she seemed to glow with an strange light. She was an albino, and as such, her skin and hip length hair were nearly pure white. Her eyes were as red as the blood which flowed through them. She was not an unattractive woman; rather, this all merely gave her an exotic allure.

Smiling at the dozing form of her husband, Taka walked over to him and lay down next to him. She laid an arm across his chest and smirked as his arm unconsciously came up around her shoulder. The two of them were always so busy. The odd hours of homicide combined with the evening yoga classes she taught five days a week meant that the moments they had together were few and far between. Before too long, she started drifting off to sleep in his embrace…

The ringing of the phone interrupted their moment of serenity.

Waking with a snort, Jacob reached over his head and grabbed the phone from the night stand. "Hello?" He answered, trying hard to stifle a yawn. Reaching down, he rubbed his wife's shoulder. "Alright. I'll see you in twenty minutes. Bye."

"Who was that?" his wife asked, pulling herself further up his body.

"Ed. His buddy Carl called from the station. They got a match from the hospital massacre."

"You're leaving, then." She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice, but it still leaked through.

"My Angel with the Daemon Eyes," Jacob said, lifting her chin up and planting a kiss on her lips. "If I had to choose between my job and lying next to you all day, you know I'd take you every time. But I'm afraid duty calls."

"You know I used to hate that nickname."

"And now?"

She didn't answer him, choosing instead to plant a kiss on his lips. Pulling away, she smirked at her husband. "Do I at least get a going away present?"

Jacob smiled his own evil smile. "You know, it was ideas like that that got me in trouble with your father."

"It's not my fault he came home early from work. So…"

"I suppose I can indulge my Angel in this…"

* * *

Kim had gone through the day in a haze. Guilt haunted her, and when she left her self-pity behind, she was unusually apathetic. It was as if part of her had left, as if some random piece of her soul had been removed and not replaced.

Abraham looked at the young girl sitting on the couch. The other television watchers had left; appearances needed to be maintained, after all. Kim was sitting alone, staring at the television, even though the box wasn't on. Abraham shook his head in worry.

"You're worried about her, aren't you?" a voice asked from behind him. Turning his head, he saw the woman Kim had been talking with earlier.

Turning his attention back to the object of his attention, he said, "I told her to get out of there. Why didn't she listen to me?"

"Probably because you look and smell like a homeless man. If you recall, when you started talking to me about werewolves, you had to drag me out of my house kicking and screaming."

A small, quick smile tugged at Abraham's cheeks. "You're never going to let that go, are you, Mary?"

"Not a chance. I thought you were going to rape and kill me, or kill and rape me."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence."

"You are most welcome."

Abraham let out a soft chuckle. Mary always seemed to have a knack for making him laugh, no matter how dire the situation. Still, he was worried about Kim. Physically, she was in great shape. The scars on her head had all but disappeared, save for the one that went down her left eye. It would seem to be a permanent mark. She had no injuries and was as healthy as a horse. Her mental scars were another problem altogether, though. The girl who had spent her life helping people was responsible for the greatest murder in this city's recent memory. Abraham remembered how he'd felt with one murder on his hands. _What would thirty-two be like?_

"Abe?"

"I'm fine," he lied, although part of him knew that he couldn't fool Mary.

Placing a hand upon his shoulder, Mary said, "Abe, you're lying."

Sighing deeply, he turned towards Mary, and said, "I'm worried about her, alright. When I ki… killed Samson, I could barely live with myself. I had barely known him, but his death nearly destroyed me. She has thirty-two lives on her hands. I don't know what to do."

"There's nothing we can do. She has to work through this on her own."

* * *

"_So, you're just going to lie there?"_

_Kim looked up. This Kim was as she pictured herself at this moment. Normally tall and strong, this Kim was small and frail. Her personality matched her form, meek, fearful, and distraught. Fragile Kim looked up into the face of the speaker. This Kim was taller and stronger than even she normally pictured herself. Her mind was sharp as glass, her constitution as hard as stone, and her passion insurmountable. Her features, although human, seemed almost to have a canine aspect to them. Lycan Kim looked down at her tearful counterpart._

"_And what has crying ever solved?"_

"_But I… I…"_

"_Did exactly what Abraham warned you that you would do. You changed, and people died."_

_Fragile Kim broke down into a fresh wave of sobbing. "It's all my fault."_

"_It isn't," Lycan Kim said with no hint of remorse. "You were bit by a creature that neither you nor the rest of humanity even knew existed. You know as well as I do that when someone starts spouting off about werewolves, they're generally nuts. His body odour didn't help…"_

"_I should have listened to him!"_

"_Am I going to wind up repeating myself this entire conversation?"_

"_And now, thirty-__two people are dead because of me…"_

"_Would you please stop feeling sorry for yourself!? God, how is it possible we share the same mind?"_

_Fragile Kim didn't answer her aggressive half. More tears came from her eyes; how could she live with this?_

_Lycan Kim's face softened somewhat and she put her arm around Fragile Kim's shoulders. Turning her counterpart's face upwards, she looked her in the eye._

"_Yes, a lot of innocent people died at our hands. But you're forgetting a few very important things. Namely, we weren't in control of our actions. Listen…"_

_A howl of anger and hunger echoed throughout Kim's mind. Fragile Kim looked around, fearful, for the source of the sound. Lycan Kim gave her a small smile._

"_That is the beast that lurks within us now. That is the creature that took control of us. It lives for only one purpose: to feed. Natural instincts, as old as life itself. Was the act of killing a bad one? Yes, without question. However, the intent behind it was free of all malevolence, whatever else you may think."_

"_How can you not care that we killed so many people?"_

"_I do care. I'll feel a sense of guilt about that for the rest of my life. And if television and horror movies have taught us anything, it's that werewolves, lycans, whatever we've become, live forever."_

"_That's a long time to live with the guilt."_

"_Gives us a lot of time to find redemption."_

_Fragile Kim looked away, more tears welling behind her eyes. "What about Ron?"_

"_What about him?"_

"_Just… look at me! Look at what we are! How could… how could…" Fragile Kim couldn't finish her sentence and broke down in tears._

"_That's something we'll have to deal with later. We've got more important things to worry about."_

_Somewhat startled, Fragile Kim said, "Like what?"_

"_Saving his life, for starters."_

_Lycan Kim smiled as an old fire appeared in Fragile Kim's eyes. _

"_Maybe he'll accept us like this, and maybe he won't. But if we don't act now, he'll die."_

_Fragile Kim smiled confidently. "Like I'm going to let that happen."_

* * *

"There's nothing we can do. She has to work through this on her own."

Kim snapped back into reality in time to hear those words. Now wasn't the time to sit around.

Abraham and Mary, startled, watched as Kim rose up from the couch and moved past them with incredible speed. The two lycans followed as fast they could. Even so, it proved difficult to put themselves along side the cheerleader. She was on a mission.

"Pardon my intrusion, but where do you think you're going?" Abraham asked, trying to move with speed through the narrow halls.

"I'm going to save my Ron."

"Of course. How silly of me," Abraham muttered with no small amount of sarcasm.

Kim stopped without any warning. Abraham, unable to stop in time, bumped into her. She turned around and looked Abraham straight in the eyes.

"Tell me where he is."

"I don't even know who this Ron is, let alone where he is."

"He was attending the Greenstone Culinary Institute. It was shot up, and it was there that I was bit by one of your kind. Something tells me you know something about that."

Abraham bit his lip. She had hit the nail on the head. Not knowing what to say, he was shocked when Mary spoke up.

"Two of our members were taking a class there. Qualified chefs are always in demand in Little Odessa, and money is always needed. The men who tore through the place were Vampires. The one dead body recovered was a particular one named Venetti."

"He had a companion. A tall Englishman with a crew-cut and a military attitude."

"Most likely Malcolm, Malia's top enforcer. He's incredibly dangerous. Never underestimate him."

"Great," Kim said, turning her back and moving forward at the same speed. The two Lycans again struggled to keep up.

"Mary, you may have forgotten to mention one tiny little detail."

Kim stopped and turned, her left hand coming out and gripping Abraham's throat. "What did she forget to mention?!"

"The reason those two were there was because Malia, their boss, has a taste for fresh human blood. They were there to capture a fresh meal for her." He said, easily peeling Kim's death grip off his throat.

Kim didn't blink, her face not betraying any emotion.

"Chances are he's already dead…"

A swift kick to the stomach, so quick even with his advanced reflexes he couldn't dodge, thrust him through the wall. Coughing as he sat back up, he saw Kim, her eyes catlike and fearsome.

"Then I'm going to avenge him."

Pulling a chunk of drywall out of his hair, Abraham said, "Would you at least put some other clothes on first?"

* * *

Reading the paper readout from the back of the various machines, Gustav nodded his approval at Ron's recovery. Ron snored peacefully as the doctor made his way over to Malcolm.

"His condition has stabilized. The toxin levels in his blood are dropping steadily. His temperature is normal, as are his pulse and heart rate. He's going to pull through," Gustav said, absentmindedly scratching at the snake tattoo on his neck.

Although Malcolm tried to keep his face blank, Gustav smiled at the sigh of relief he gave. He frowned though and asked Malcolm what was so special about the recovering blonde in the bed.

"When he was still human, he defeated a centuries-old vampire," Malcolm said, his eyes never leaving Ron's body. "How could I let such a prodigy slip uncontested through my fingers?"

Gustav shook his massive head, "There's more to it than that, I'm thinking."

Malcolm was silent for a moment before he answered. "I don't know. I really don't know. There's just something about him. He's just so… naïve. He doesn't seem to have a corrupt or cruel bone in his body. It's as if every hard thing this world has ever had to throw at him was deflected."

"Sounds more like weakness to me."

"Gustav, you know I have no stomach for weakness. He may be many things, but weak isn't one of them."

Silence filled the hospital room. The two vampires looked on in silence, the quiet beeping of the heart monitor the only sound to break the otherwise unearthly quiet.

"Call me when he wakes up. I want to speak with him before he is brought to Malia again."

"Why?"

"Because I have this feeling that diplomacy isn't one of his strong suits." With that, Malcolm turned and walked out the door, leaving Ron asleep on his sweat-stained sheets, and Gustav filling in a crossword puzzle.

* * *

"What the bloody-ass-hell took you buggers so long?" the Englishman-turned-American said as Jacob and Ed walked into his lab.

"One of us was late," Ed said, shooting a glance at Jacob, whose face betrayed nothing.

Shaking his head, Carl turned to the table and picked up a file folder on it. "Never mind. I've got something that you two have been waiting for."

Handing the file over, Jacob flipped it open, revealing the photo and file contained within. The picture was of a shaggy man, with long, dirty hair and a scraggly beard. The name read **Abraham C. Smith**.

"It took almost fifteen hours of scanning, but we finally matched his fingerprints to those we found on a Styrofoam cup located in the lobby. Also, he has a prior criminal record."

"You're not kidding," Jacob said, as he flipped through the long list of charges. "Assault, assault and battery, assault with a deadly weapon, burglary, breaking and entering, grand theft auto, possession with intent to sell, at least nine charges of resisting arrest, and murder."

"How has this guy not been brought in yet?" Ed asked, taking the heavy folder from Jacob, whistling at the sheer mass of parking tickets alone.

"He's been brought in twice, and escaped both times. Made the guards look a bunch of wankers, eh?" Carl said with a grin on his face.

As Ed flipped past the dozen or so aliases of Abraham (_"Honest Abe"? Who the hell is he kidding?)_, he asked, "Do we have any idea where this guy is?"

Another smile passed Carl's face. Taking a sip of his coffee, he grabbed another, much thinner file, off the table and passed it to Jacob.

"Why, yes, yes, we do."


End file.
